


Too Young To Have So Many Scars

by paupotter_4869



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Thirteen Reasons Why - Jay Asher
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Brotherhood, College, F/M, Family, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluffyfest, Graduation, HASN'T JUSTIN BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH IN HIS SHORT YEARS OF LIFE, Hannah's tapes, Happy Ending, Homework, Life Happens, Movie Nights, Nightmares, Prom, Sad and Happy, Struggling, Woobie, adjustments, and i AM GOING TO GIVE THIS POOR BOY HIS HAPPY ENDING, but overall quite happy, but the Jensen family dynamic this season was one of them, but the show writers, camping trip, canon divergence wHERE JUSTIN FOLEY DOESNT FREAKING DIE AND GOES TO COLLEGE, getting through life, going off to college, how could they screw something so beautiful so badly, i still cannot completely forgive the writers, im not going to blame Jay Asher his work was amazing and he started all of this, living with the Jensens, never ignored canon so hard in my fandom life, new life, oh well what's new under the sun, prom dance, protecting each other, shit happens, shooting drill, some extra scenes of Justin and the family adapting to the new addition, there were several things in s4 i didnt understand, we were fed with Clay and Justin scenes in season 3 but there was so much more missing, well this is why fanfiction exists, you werent happy you just had to kill him didnt you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 80,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paupotter_4869/pseuds/paupotter_4869
Summary: Basically, Justin learns to live with a caring and loving family, and the Jensens adjust to having a new person into their household. A collection of drabbles with them and the gang, all getting through life and shit as well as they can. Just because Justin has had the best character arc in the whole show and I wanted to write this before s4 came out and screws everything up!UPDATE: And in short, s4 DID screw everything up regarding Justin's amazing character arc and the Jensens. So from ch. 15 onward, this work becomes a fix-it and an AU where Justin gets the happy ending he deserved, and no one can convinceme otherwise.
Relationships: Amorowat "Ani" Achola/Clay Jensen, Hannah Baker/Clay Jensen, Jessica Davis/Justin Foley, Justin Foley & The Jensens, Lainie Jensen/Matt Jensen
Comments: 156
Kudos: 226





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All credit to Jay Asher and Netflix. I do not own any of characters.  
> TW: strong language, mentions of violence, and substance abuse (will warn at the beginning of each chapter).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick summary of Clay's and his parents' feelings throughout s2 concerning Justin, before we move onto the real missing scenes --IMO-- from season 3 !

Despite the collected conversation the family had and the agreements they seemed to have reached, an argument burst out the minute Justin and Clay were out of sight--but not out of earshot. Justin’s been sitting on the stairs, watching and listening to Mr. and Mrs. Jensen fight over him. He’s a mess and brings problems anywhere he goes, Justin reflects. Clay shouldn’t have taken him out of the streets.

“Lainie,” begs Matt, soft voice, resting his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “Let’s try to cal--”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” shrieks Lainie, spinning around in rage. “You say it’s normal for a 17-year-old to keep secrets, but I can’t keep doing this, Matt! I just can’t! I _must_ draw the line somewhere!”

“Clay didn’t exactly commit a federal crime--”

“He hid a boy in his room for a week, Matt! How can you stand there and remain so calm and collected? That boy has a mother, why on Earth can’t he go to them? What sort of problems has he been involved in? Can’t you see that Clay might be in too deep for his own sake, too?”

“I have as many answers as you do,” replies Matt. “But, like we told the boys let’s sleep on it. It’s too late to make any house calls or find out about the boy’s parents.”

“He’s been living in the streets, Matt. Care to explain to me why all of a sudden we’re supposed to take care of him, just like that, because Clay introduced us and the boy said he’s got nowhere else to go? Don’t you understand the risks we’re taking on?”

“Hey,” says Clay softly, patting on Justin’s shoulder. He doesn’t look so good either hearing his parents arguing, but still, he sits by Justin’s side, on the same step, and bumps gently against him, to distract him from his parents’ argument. The tortured look on Justin’s eyes. . . They cannot send him away. He doesn’t care how much of a fight his parents put up. Justin’s staying here until they can find a more permanent solution.

“They’re not going to find my Mom,” Justin says, his voice breaking.

“Yeah. You told me.”

“I should probably leave and spare you the trouble, shouldn’t I?”

“Don’t talk like that,” scowls Clay. “My Mom said you can stay here for as long as you need to. Don’t worry about anything else. Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

He grabs Justin by the arm to pull him up, and that’s when he sees Justin was holding onto the veranda while listening to the argument, white knuckles, and shivering hands as if holding back. . . _What in the world did he want to do?_

They go upstairs to Clay’s room; now Clay and Justin’s, until, or if, a more permanent solution can be found.

“You’ll have to make do with the couch,” sighs Clay in an apologetic tone.

The moment Clay shuts the door and his parents’ voices are muffled by the distance and barriers, Justin breathes a little bit easier. He couldn’t help be worried. He’s spent years of his childhood on the other side of a wall hearing his mother arguing with the boyfriend she had at the moment, and getting hit more often than not, unable to protect or fight in her stead. He really wouldn’t survive it if because of him that same scene unfolded too under this roof. He’s completely aware the Jensens aren’t anything like the abnormal family he comes from, and yet. . .

“It’s going to be okay,” says Clay. He must have seen the fright in Justin’s eyes.

“Yeah. Sure,” nods Justin, throwing some pillows from the couch to the floor. “Care to tell me what’s going to happen tomorrow?”

On his bed, putting on socks, Clay shrugs. “Nothing different than yesterday. You need to get clean to testify in Court. But, I guess, you don’t have to hide in here all day long anymore.”

“Oh, well, crack the champagne.”

“Do you _ever_ stop complaining?” scowls Clay, throwing a pillow at his face, making Justin finally crack a smile. Small and short, it’s enough for now, and Clay doesn’t feel regret or remorse riling up his entire body when he suggests again they should try to get some sleep--difficult as it is having his parents arguing downstairs.

Clay couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment when he stops hating slash envying Justin and starts to care about him, then grow affectionate towards the boy he once hated. One day he just finds himself helping Justin with his tie and joking about him still hating Justin, but deep down he realizes that he doesn’t, not truly. Over the course of a few days, sharing a bedroom and meals and basically living together, his feelings spanned from anger, indifference, pity, worry, and care--an evolution truly worth a few months, at the very least, if not years.

He finds himself thinking of things he’d given up hope for too long ago, such as what it would feel like to share his parents’ attention and worry with someone else, share his bedroom, have someone around all the time. In short, having a brother to argue, joke, play, and banter with. Considering everything else going on--Bryce, the trial, school, homework, Hannah’s funeral--it’s hard to reconcile them having fun and, well, enjoying the company. In all honesty, he hasn’t felt so at peace in a long time. Before Hannah, that’s for sure. And he thinks it was much longer for Justin.

It isn’t as easy for his parents to adjust and adapt, Clay and Justin know that. As shocked and outraged as they were to find out about Justin and about Clay lying to them for a whole week, they were slightly amused the very next day, when they heard Clay laugh so early as breakfast at something Justin had said. Hearing Clay’s banter, hurtless arguing with Justin, complaining, and laughing, it led to Matt and Lainie to ponder if Clay bringing Justin home behind their backs hadn’t changed for the better much more than simply Justin’s life.

Without the boys knowing, and probably without prior planning to, they see Clay and Justin make a connection and build a surprisingly and strange enough bond in a matter of days. They see the boys successfully overtake together struggles few teenagers are forced to meddle through: Justin goes back to school getting past all the rumors and prejudices against him, testifying in Court for the death of a girl and classmate, and who knows what else they put themselves through. They provide Justin with food, clothes, school supplies, and even a cell phone, as if he were already a member of the family.

Lainie couldn’t forget about Justin’s mother, but then the boy shows up one day saying that he wants to come clean about a felony sexual assault, and her lawyers instincts go out the window, letting the mother take place fully. She finds that she cares for Justin almost as much as she’d dread Clay himself going to jail, and she takes the boy aside for him to understand all that’s stake before he gives his statement.

He says he understands and that he’s ready and willing to face whatever comes his way, but how could he, really? Lainie would have stopped him if she knew how, but Justin’s certain of one thing only--he is going to testify about what happened to that poor Jessica, consequences be damned.

The consequences are as terrible as Lainie had feared, albeit they don’t come as a surprise at all. The moment Justin came clean about his intentions, she started preparing a strategy for Justin’s defense. And on this day, at the steps of Court, instants after the police take Justin under arrest, Clay clears it all up.

“He saved my life. We have to help him.”

It takes Lainie, despite all of her efforts, a whole month to get Justin out of juvie and released into emergency custody. Knowing in advance that’s only a temporary solution, the month Justin spends in jail gives the Jensen family, as maddening and frustrating the situation is to all three of them, to ponder their possibilities. Assess all of their wishes and understand the implications of filing for Justin’s adoption, understanding that’s not a temporary solution, at all.

They need to sit down only once. Clay, Matt, and Lainie agree unanimously, an occurrence that has barely happened in this family before, after Lainie explains it all. They still have time to come to terms with the idea and really think how all their lives will change in the future if they go through the adoption--and one week later, they’re still in agreement.

So, Lainie does get Justin released into emergency custody, exactly on the day of Hannah’s funeral. They delegate Clay delivering and explaining the news, since he was the most persistent and adamant about the whole adoption thing from the beginning.

“Okay, yeah. I’d like to get adopted, yeah.”

Justin’s response finally settles things for good. They drink on it, and that night all four come back home. They give Justin his set of keys and allow him to do the honors for the first of many times to come--he’s so nervous that he barely manages to introduce the key into the keyhole and turn it in order to open the door, but he pulls through.

The house fills with banter, jokes, laughs, complaining, and arguments soon enough, and although Matt and Lainie had thought they’d left it all behind when Clay had left his toddler years behind, they secretly enjoy the new situation. Having two teenagers around, who clearly don’t see eye to eye on so many subjects, seems to be, however ironic, the thing Clay was missing. Clay and Justin both, actually. Them going together to the Spring Fling dance seems to baptize that union of brothers--or half-brothers, whatever they want to call it.

* * *

_And thus begins the story of the two young, heartbroken, and defeated boys who decide to give life a second chance standing side by side. Strangers at first, enemies after, friends later, roommates next, reluctant brothers for a while, and, currently, sharing a bond stronger than blood._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after Justin officially moves in, all Jensen family members struggle to adjust -- most especially, Justin himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: strong language. Mentions of physical violence.

When the alarm clock goes off for the third time in a row, Clay groans but reaches his hand to turn it off for good, now. He’s so tired and has zero strength to go to school, just like any other day, but he doesn’t wish to drop out, either. 

Many more groans escape his lips as he first sits and then leaves the bed, opens the window to air out the room, and grabs his towel. Out in the hallway, he’s surprised to find open the door to the guests’ room -- now Justin’s room -- and to see the boy fully dressed, sitting on the floor, back against a still unmade bed. 

“Morning,” says Clay, fighting a yawn. 

“Hey.” 

“Took a shower already?” 

“Got a problem with that?” retorts Justin. 

“No, nothing. Guess I’m still finding out things about you--like the fact that you’re such a morning person.” 

“Oh, piss off, will you!” Justin scowls. 

Clay laughs, but he’s not in the mood for an argument, much less a fight, so early in the morning, so he just sends Justin off to have breakfast. Whereas he heads over to the bathroom to take a shower, too. 

After getting dressed, he goes downstairs to the kitchen. There, he finds Justin pouring himself a cup of coffee, drinking it whole, and then reaching out for a refill. 

“Wow, isn’t that too much?” Clay stops him. 

“Why do you care?” replies Justin, taking the coffee mug to the table. On his part, Clay helps himself to the waffles his father made before he left for College, serving another dish for Justin, too. 

“I don’t,” says Clay, sitting across from Justin. “I figure you’re _not_ a morning person, then?” 

Without giving a straight answer, Justin dives into the waffles, two at a time. He and his parents are slowly getting used to Justin’s character and his ways of doing things, sometimes so different than the Jensen’s, and there’s nothing wrong with it. Today, however, Clay takes a good look at the boy and asserts that his problem is that he didn’t get a full night’s sleep. 

“You. . . Don’t like the bed?” he asks. 

“Dude,” scoffs Justin. “Have you forgotten that I spent months on the streets and then four whole weeks in prison? That bed is the best thing I’ve slept in so many fucking years.” 

“What is it, then?” demands Clay, out of ideas. “What’s the problem?” 

“Who said there was a problem?” 

“Well, A, the bags under your eyes. And B, the foul mood.” 

“Very funny,” scowls Justin, his mouth full of waffles. 

“Do you hear me laughing?” replies Clay coldly, who’s given up the waffles until he figures out what is going on here. Under his brother’s stare and genuine concern, Justin stops eating, too, dropping the piece of waffle he was going to stuff into his mouth. 

“Bed’s fine, man,” he insists, low voice, but he _is_ holding out on something, Clay can tell. And he doesn’t need to repeat his question for Justin to surrender and finally give him a straight answer. “It’s just, I have a hard time sleeping in this house. It’s. . . So quiet.” 

“Quiet?” 

“At my Mom’s place, quiet was never a good sign,” explains Justin slowly, low voice, barely looking up at Clay. “Either she and her boyfriend had passed out after getting high on God knows what shit; or one of those boyfriends had left her, and it was a matter of time before they returned to collect some debt, either money or drugs, and it’d would all end in an argument, and a fight. Silence was always. . .” 

“The quiet before the storm,” Clay supplies the words he was struggling with. 

“Yeah,” Justin nods, resting on the table. “Whenever I close my eyes, I fear I’m going to wake up to my Mom yelling, or getting stoned, or getting beaten, which would mean I would get beaten, too, if I got in the middle of the brawl and tried to defend her. I--” 

“Did you sleep better in my room?” Clay asks softly. They didn’t have much of a chance to discover each other’s annoying habits or sleeping patterns after Justin got cleaned, but Clay would have noticed the boy tossing around and waking up ten times every night, for sure. 

“I--I did,” Justin struggles to confess. 

“Well, it’s decided, then,” says Clay, reaching for his coffee mug. “You’re crushing in my room again tonight--and every night after that until we get you a proper bed.” 

“Clay, don’t be a dumbass,” begs Justin, running a hand through his hair while grabbing Clay’s shirt to stop him. . . From doing what, exactly, he doesn’t know. “That’s not--” 

“What’s the big issue now?” 

“I don’t want to be a burden or cause troubles.” 

The answer surprises Clay so much that he cannot come up with any kind of response for some seconds and he stares back at Justin dead in the eye. He’s just shocked that this should be Justin’s biggest concern. He’d thought they’d given him reasons to trust the family--or him, at the very least. It seems they’re all still at the very early stages of the learning curve. 

“Dude, how _thick_ are you really? You’re part of the family now. Whatever you need, you talk to us. Do not feel ashamed or embarrassed or afraid at all. My parents are adopting you because we care about you, so we can provide for your needs, too.” 

“I don’t want to come out as rude or greedy, man. You’ve given me more than I’d ever hoped for.” 

“And that’s quintessentially what parents do, without expecting compensation or reward for their efforts afterwards.” 

Justin has to swallow a difficult knot forming in his throat about how the parental figures he’s had the pleasure of knowing up until now don’t really fit into the description Clay’s just provided. Instead of indulging in childhood traumas, he prefers to stop Clay from whatever it is he’s planning. 

“Still, I can’t ask you--” 

“You’re not asking, I’m offering my room so you can get a full night’s sleep and don’t bite my head off in the mornings,” replies Clay, without listening to him. “The thing is, Justin, you really need to start expressing your feelings and ask me or my parents for what you want and need--communication is key to any relationship.” 

“Hey, don’t be a smart-ass.” 

“Justin, you don’t get it,” insists Clay, not letting his brother’s feeble attempts at insulting him distract him from the main issue here. “We were giving you time and space to adjust to this new life and everything else. If we were wrong, you need to tell us, man. We’re not mind readers.” 

“And why do we need such capabilities exactly?” asks Lainie, stepping into the kitchen with her nose glued to some papers she’s holding. 

“Mom, aren’t you going to be late?” 

“I’m going to Court this morning,” Mrs. Jensen says, resting her suitcase on the countertop and laying the coffee mug on the sink. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding my question. Are you boys hiding anything?” 

“Justin and I have reconsidered. We would like to share a room, if the offer’s still available,” says Clay right off the bat, to spare Justin the difficult position of finding the appropriate words for himself. For some reason, however, he’s still upset about how Clay managed it all, and proves so by hitting him, hard, on the arm. 

“Dude!” complains Justin, jumping off his seat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jensen. My room is fine--” 

“Stop calling me Mrs. Jensen,” begs the woman, looking alternately between the two boys with a small smile on her lips. To Justin’s biggest relief, she doesn’t look angry or appalled at all. “And of course, the offer still stands. We can go to buy a bed this weekend.” 

“No, really--” 

“Great,” interjects Clay, applauding the idea and trying to get back to the waffles. 

“Although I think your bedroom might be too small for two teenagers, don’t you agree, honey?” ponders Lainie, as unfathomable as Clay himself upon Justin’s poor reiterated attempts to make them both forget about the whole conversation. “Maybe your father was right and we should convert my study for you two, what do you say?” 

“Please, that is not--” 

“Even better,” accepts Clay. 

“I’ve got to go now, but we’ll talk again in the evening,” Lainie apologizes after checking the hour. She puts the folders back into her suitcase and puts on her jacket. “Don’t forget your lunches!” 

She leaves before Justin has yet to manage to utter an entire sentence throughout the whole conversation. As soon as the front door closes, Justin scoffs and, exasperated, turns towards Clay, dropping on his seat. This is so not like he wanted this conversation to go--much less this morning. As per Clay, he’s not at all mortified or embarrassed as he is, and has the stomach to keep on eating waffles. 

“Was that really necessary?” he demands. 

“Duh, yeah, it was,” nods Clay. “That room is too small for the two of us. We’d kill each other within a week.” 

“That’s not what I meant!” scowls Justin. “The conversation deviated from me having trouble sleeping to your Mom accepting refurbishing the whole house--” 

“Crazy how communication works sometimes.” 

“Isn’t it all. . . Wrong?” Justin dares to ask. He’s never had anyone truly worrying over his wishes and needs, not like this, much less acting upon them willingly. He’s yet to distinguish between greedy and proper parenting--only Bryce came close, and he doesn’t want to think about him. The few times his mother showed him any kindness over the years didn’t even come close to what the Jensens are doing for him. 

“Again--it isn’t,” insists Clay, his voice serious, showing the time for jokes is over, so the message sinks in. “This is how it’s supposed to be. About the bed, the food you eat, the fucking books you read, or the sports you want to play. You need to communicate and tell us these things, man.” 

Justin needs a few seconds to find collect his thoughts, much less find any coherent words to give him an answer. It feels so out of place, so stupid, he can barely believe it’s true. That this is his life now. With people who care about him. Simple as that. 

“I’ll try to,” he concedes. 

“Good,” approves Clay, handing him back his dish of waffles. “And while you’re at it, is there anything else you needed to come forth with? The shampoo too harsh on your perfect hair, the clothes itchy?” 

“Stop joking, man,” scowls Justin, his mouth full again. 

“I was only _partially_ joking,” Clay insists. “You come to us if you need anything. Deal?” 

After two seconds, Justin takes Clay’s hand and shakes it once. “It’s a deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three words: family movie night !!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: strong language

Even though he’s got his own Trigonometry problems to take care of, Clay cannot refrain himself from checking out Justin’s homework. Sitting side by side at the table, he’s been helping Justin out since he came into the house and, although he’s yet to ask him for assistance tonight, Clay cannot stop himself--an old habit from his tutoring days. 

“Hey. That’s wrong. _Pescado_ is the Spanish word for ‘fish’. The translation for ‘sins’ is--” 

“Will you just give me a fucking chance?” demands Justin, hitting Clay’s shoulder. “Don’t you have homework to do, too?” 

“Um, excuse me. I’m trying to spare you the trouble of doing your homework twice, when you inevitably get all that vocabulary wrong,” Clay replies. “I taught you this vocabulary for the test last week. How could you forget it already?” 

“I don’t know. Blame my fucked-up brain.” 

“Or your attention span of like, five seconds.” 

“Screw you, man,” scoffs Justin. He hits Clay so hard that he almost falls from his stool--Justin has to grab him by the shoulder to prevent a stupid fall very awkward to explain to his folks. After the temporary fright, Clay goes back at it, however, much to Justin’s dismay. He briefly ponders if he would have been far better off by letting Clay fall and sprain his ankle or something. 

“Again, the Spanish word for sins isn’t--” 

“And what the fuck is the Spanish equivalent for ‘you’re a pain in the ass’?” 

“ _Eres un grano en el culo,”_ Clay says without doubting his answer for a second. “Or, alternatively, _‘eres una piedra en mi zapato’,_ which would translate to you’re like a pebble in my shoes.” 

“Well, that’s who you are, alright,” sighs Justin. “Annoying, painful, and impossible to survive unless one removes you altogether.” 

“Great analogy,” approves Clay. 

“How the fuck were you a tutor? How did your pupils stand you for more than five minutes straight?” 

“Jeff liked me.” They both fall silent upon mentioning Atkins and the demise he met due to circumstances they’re both painfully aware of. It was a terrible loss for many students alike, still to this day. “And none of my pupils were half as bad as you are.” 

“Dude, who was it who said that we must learn from our mistakes?” 

“You certainly didn’t. And anyway, it isn’t true. Everyone at school would be fucking geniuses, and we’re all fucking dumbasses.” 

“Amen,” sighs Justin, going back to his homework. 

A bit tired of arguing about dead people and idiots from school, Clay gives his brother a chance and returns to his Trigonometry problems. Less than two minutes later, however, he checks again Justin’s notebook, and he cannot help himself. 

“Hey, you know that one too. Homework in Spanish is--?” 

“ _Deberes,”_ says Matt as he steps into the room, apologetic eyes. “Speaking of, are you guys done with yours?” 

“Almost,” says Clay. 

“We are,” says Justin at the same time, shutting his notebooks. 

“Dude,” scoffs Clay. “You’re not done with half that vocabulary list.” 

“Not everyone in the world can swallow a dictionary like you did.” 

“I keep telling you, memorizing a bunch of words isn’t--” 

“Boys,” interjects Matt before they make him stand there for what it could be a ten-minute rant. “I just came to say that food’s here, but I can see this might not be the perfect time for Friday 13th?” 

“Oh, no. It’s perfect timing,” replies Justin, slamming all his textbooks shut and putting down his pens and pencils. 

He jumps off his stool and then looks over to Clay, who seems willing to argue the balance of homework and movie night. . . For five seconds. He gives up with a deep sigh and, acting a little bit more collected than Justin, or perhaps just trying to prove a point, he lays the pen on his notebook and folds the corner of his textbook as bookmarks. Only then does he leave his stool, Justin appreciating his efforts by patting his shoulders, and they join his father back to the main house. The smell of pizzas fills their nostrils and makes their stomachs rumble halfway through. 

It’s Justin’s favorite nights of the week, and every Sunday, without fail, he’s at home for movie night--not even Jessica can keep him away easily. It’s a completely new experience he’s come to love since landing at the Jensen’s home. With Bryce they’d never consider doing something as boring and ordinary as watching a movie, much less an old black-and-white movie, when they could play videogames, cards, drink, and get stoned. They used to go to the Crestmont at least once per month, but Justin always depended on Bryce buying his ticket and popcorn, and Justin couldn’t help but feel indebted. 

The weekly movie night started spontaneously, like so many other things that have now become routine to the family. Justin was checking the DVD collection and confessed he hadn’t seen most of it, which queued Clay’s father spending almost thirty minutes praising the virtues of classical movies until Lainie suggested than instead of telling Justin about them, they should just watch one. Justin agreed immediately and Clay joined in because he had nothing better to do--not to mention, the popcorn was a compelling argument. Matt ordered some food in. . . And just like that, a habit that has been working out for nine weeks on a row was set in motion. 

As per Clay, he would, however, grudgingly, agree that he does enjoy these nights, even though he’s watched all the movies Justin hasn’t. After all, since they started these movie nights, both his parents have made an effort to show up, in spite of work or other commitments, and have spent together more Sunday nights than he could remember. 

“Hello, boys!” Lainie greets, opening the pizza boxes on the kitchen countertop. “Did you manage to get all your homework done?” 

“Hey, just an idea--how about we pick a comedy instead?” Matt suggests. 

“Why? Not in the mood for good, proper horror, are we?” teases Lainie, looking over to Justin and Clay. “Did something happen?” 

“Dad, I promise you, what you heard back there should give you no indication that we’re going to torture and kill each other in horrific ways,” Clay tries to settle, before his Mom starts inquiring. 

“So, who’s hungry?” asks Justin, reaching out for the dishes cabinet. 

They hand out plates and forgo the already expected fight over the pizzas to see who gets more olives, salami, or pepperoni. As per Matt’s rules, they leave all their cell phones on the kitchen table and then they go through to the living room, where they have the ultimate discussion over tonight’s movie. 

In the end, Matt’s suggestion wins over the family, and instead of watching a movie that will give them all nightmares, they settle for Disney’s Finding Nemo. 

“So, just to summarize, we’re watching a father looking for his missing son instead of a brother searching for his missing little sister because you think it’s going to cause me some trauma,” argues Clay as his father prepares the movie and his mother grabs a few blankets for everyone. “Got it.” 

“Will you shut up and sit down?” demands Justin, pulling him to the floor. 

There’s plenty of space on the couch, but it’s also a habit for him and Clay to watch the movie from the carpeted floor, backs against the couch, just because. Lainie makes sure they’re properly covered with blankets, lest they catch a cold, and Matt finds his spot by Lainie’s side before he presses play. 

Of course, few minutes into the movie, another quarrel altogether erupts because of the popcorn, and so much of it ends up on the floor or under the couch after Clay and Justin spar and throw popcorn at each other. It’s just part of the routine, really, just like eating too much pizza, going to sleep too late on a Sunday night, and satirizing the entire movie, sometimes spoiling a few classics. Even throughout dramas or horror movies, they spend the duration of the movie laughing. Justin and Clay always find a way to make fun of everything: the special effects, the characters’ stupidity to go looking for danger instead of avoiding it, the plotholes, all of it. 

Tonight, Justin seems to enjoy Doris’ character just a bit too much, and he leans against Clay to pester him for a full minute straight, singing by his ear, with that little song ‘Just keep swimming.’ Clay, just fulfilling the role of being upset for changing the movie plan, gets fed up at some point and explodes. 

“You know, there are some species of sharks that can die if they stop swimming for even an instant? It is essential for them to keep moving to stay alive, or else they’ll suffocate to death.” 

Well, apparently they don’t need to watch a horror movie per se for Clay to shock and appall his family members. Since no one was paying any attention to the movie, staring back at Clay for such a dark piece of trivia, Matt stops the movie momentarily. 

“You really need to brighten up, kiddo,” he sighs. 

“Where did you hear that?” asks Lainie. 

“School,” Clay says, giving Justin a knowing look as to point out the importance of homework and getting an education. 

“You take the fun out of everything, dude,” scowls Justin, pulling back. 

“Come on, I’ll get us more popcorn,” says Matt, grabbing the bowl Clay was holding and leaving for the kitchen. “You can resume the movie, if you want.” 

“Nah, it’s fine,” says Clay, knowing it’s not a proper movie night if it’s not all four family members present, even if the one missing is only standing a few feet away for less than two minutes straight. “And I don’t suck the fun out of anything. You’re going to enjoy this next bit, if you pay enough attention.” 

“Don’t you dare make any spoilers,” scowls Justin, hitting Clay in the arm. 

“Hey, I would really appreciate it if movie night didn’t end up with someone in the hospital,” begs Lainie behind them, after the groan that escaped Clay’s mouth. 

“Sorry,” the two boys apologize. “And would it be considered a spoiler, if this movie came out in 2003?” adds Clay. 

Matt’s arrival with the popcorn saves the day, for he delivers one of the bowls to Justin, the other to Lainie, in a peace offering. He reclaims his seat by Lainie’s side and, after making sure everyone’s still alive and paying attention to the movie, hits play.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon after Spring Fling, Clay's got his nightmares. Luckily he's got his brother to fall back on.

_“I didn’t realize how bad it was for you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t.”_

_“Get out of my fucking way.”_

_“Tyler, they know you’re hurting, we all are. And I don’t know what to do about it, either.”_

_“Tyler, listen. You don’t get out of this alive.”_

_“You don’t fucking know anything about me. I. . . I have to.”_

The sound of the gun firing is muffled by the music inside the gym. Clay’s yells of pain mix with everyone else’s screams, letting him know that he failed, that he couldn’t save Tyler or anyone. The blood pouring from his fatal wound on the stomach and the raging pain fade into the police and emergency services sirens getting closer and closer, but it’s still too late, they’re no time to help Clay or the attendees at the ball. . . The paramedics shouting, ordering him to stay awake, promising him he’s going to be okay. . . 

“Jesus, Jensen! _Wake up!_ Wake the fuck up!” 

Albeit Clay’s never been assisted by paramedics in an emergency, some part of his groggy brain assumes shaking the patient so violently has never been a protocol in any sort of situation. He slowly lets himself drift over that harsh treatment, which in the end, couldn’t possibly be worse than the sickening experience of getting shot in the gut. . . 

“Jensen!” Justin yells again, as Clay opens his eyes. 

“Tyler!!” Clay shrieks in return, gasping for air. 

Justin moves back as Clay, frenzied, pushes the blankets away, checking his stomach, the spot he was covering with his hands to prevent, unconsciously, a fatal loss of blood. . . But he’s unscathed. No blood, no injury. 

“Tyler,” he gasps. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Justin reassures him, grabbing his shoulder before he tries to jump off the bed and breaks his neck in the process. “It’s OK! Tyler’s fine. Tony’s taking him to school today, remember?” 

The words barely have any meaning to Clay as he’s still checking his stomach, head, and limbs to make sure he truly wasn’t shot. Not only that--he’s not back to that night or at the entrance of the gym. There're no other kids injured screaming in pain. He’s at home, at the new room he now shares with Justin, and his brother’s sitting in front of him, holding him steady by the shoulders, panicked look on his eyes. 

“Shit,” scowls Clay, running a hand through his forehead, wiping the cold sweat. He’s slowly breathing better as he comes to the conclusion it was only a nightmare. 

“Fuck, Clay, don’t do that to me ever again,” says Justin, finding a more comfortable position on Clay’s bed. “You scared the shit out of me. What in the world did you dream of?” 

“It was a nightmare,” Clay confesses, without regretting for a second coming clean about this to Justin. If here’s one thing he can rely on, it’s Justin’s silence and comfort. He won’t tell his parents, either. “Tyler.” 

“Tyler?” 

“That night. . . Spring Fling,” Clay explains, barely able to get the words out, as shaken as he is still. And he does not need to say anything else: Justin understood completely, and rests a hand on Clay’s shoulders. 

“But. . . Nothing happened. You stopped him.” 

“Well, in my dream, I didn’t. And he shot me, and went on to kill who knows how many more students. . .” 

“Shit, Clay,” scowls Justin. He scoots closer, pulling Clay in for a hug, so tight and warm that Clay feels only comfort and relief when he starts crying against Justin’s shoulders. “It was just a dream. That’s all it was. It never happened. Ty never shot anyone. You weren’t shot. _You’re safe._ All those kids at school are alive, because of you. He didn’t shoot anyone. You’re safe.” 

Justin really doesn’t know what he’s saying--he just keeps talking, softly, hoping his voice and words will calm Clay down at some point. After a few minutes, he finally stops crying and shivering in Justin’s arms. 

“Are you OK?” he asks when Clay pulls back.

“Getting there.” 

“You look like shit, man,” says Justin, truly feeling bad for his brother’s state. Unless he’s skipping school, however, there’s little he can do for him at the moment. “Come on, go take a shower. I’ll have coffee prepared when you’re done.” 

Unable to find words to decline the offer, or maybe any coherent words at all, Clay nods, patting Justin on the arm as he leaves his bed. Justin stays there, crumpling the sheets on his feet out of anxiety for seeing Clay in such a state, wishing there was something else he could say. But by the time he tries to come up with any comforting words, Clay’s shut himself in the bathroom. 

When he hears the water running. Justin sets to work too and, only to reassure himself and Clay, he texts Tony. Everyone except for Zach agreed to the schedules Clay prepared and have never had a problem with them. If there was, the person in charge should contact the others in time. 

**Justin:**` r u picking up Ty? `  
**Tony:**` yes, of course. `  
**Tony:** `y? `  
**Justin:**` just checking.`

At that moment, Clay emerges from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, and Justin puts down his phone, knowing Clay won’t like him talking about those nightmares with anyone. But as he turns around--wearing his usual jeans, plain T-shirt and hoodie--he’s shocked by something else. 

“You made my bed?” 

Justin shrugs, unsure if Clay will appreciate him being a tad overprotective big brother, especially when Justin didn’t bother to make his own bed altogether. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s protective over Clay, although, on that night at Bryce’s, Clay was just out of his mind and needed someone to take charge. 

“Figured you weren’t in the mood. Here,” Justin says, handing him the coffee he’s just prepared. 

“Thanks.” 

No amount of coffee in the world is ever going to get rid of those bags nor that tortured look on Clay’s face, but again, Justin’s run out of options. As he needs to shower and change too, he goes do that, hoping Clay won’t have a relapse of that freaking nightmare in the meantime. 

When he comes out, Clay’s still sitting on the same stool he left him at, staring blankly at the wall in front of him, the coffee mug empty between his hands. It’s worse than Justin had initially feared--whether Clay is simply asleep or shaken, he doesn’t move or bat an eye at all, he’s not his usual self chatting about nerd stuff, and doesn’t react as Justin calls him out. 

Shit, they’re going to have to get him help. Let’s just add someone else on the list of people who need psychological help without being able to go to a professional, or else half the school will go to jail. 

“Hey, man,” says Justin, patting him on the shoulder to snap him out of that blur. “Grab your bag, we’re going.” 

In automatic movements, just like a robot, Clay puts down the coffee mug and stands to pick his bag up from the floor. He’s so asleep still that he didn’t realize it was unzipped, and so, all of his notebooks and textbooks and school supplies fall out. 

“Fuck!” he scowls. 

“It’s okay,” says Justin, laughing it out before Clay gets angry at that slight inconvenience and throws his bag away, making it all worse. Just in case, he grabs Clay’s school bag, lays it on his bed, and kneels to pick all the stuff up. After a beat, Clay kneels by his side to give him a hand, throws it all inside his backpack and zips it. 

He looks just about ready to bite someone’s head off, sighs Justin as they stand again. Maybe he shouldn’t go to school today, but what excuse can they give Mr. and Mrs. Jensen exactly? If they hear Clay’s having nightmares, they’ll send him to the psychiatrist and get him under medication. It might just be what he needs, but he’ll put up a fight the minute Justin goes to Mr. and Mrs. Jensen and they suggest such an atrocity. No, for the time being, it’s best if they let it be and see how things unfold. 

“Hey,” Justin calls him out just before he leaves the outer house. “Tyler’s getting better, Clay. Thanks to you. What happened that night, won’t happen ever again. We'll make sure of that. I promise.” 

“Yeah,” he nods after a beat. “That’s great.” 

Meeting their folks this morning was perhaps a bad idea, but Justin can’t stop Clay when they step into the main house and realizes the mistake. He’ll have to try to keep the conversation as brief as possible. 

“My God, Clay, did you get any sleep?” scowls Lainie. 

“Homework,” the boy replies succinctly. 

“He helped me out till late,” Justin elaborates the explanation to save Clay’s ass. “We didn’t realize.” 

“Yeah,” confirms Clay, standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen without knowing what to do or say next. He looks up at Justin, and for some reason, so do Mr. and Mrs. Jensen, and he clears his throat and bursts out the first excuse that comes to mind. 

“We’ll be late,” he says, resting a hand on Clay’s lower back to get him walking out of the kitchen. “We’ll get a coffee on our way, don’t you worry.” 

Although two coffees in the morning _is_ too much for Clay, Justin cannot point it out today, he reflects as he takes the wheel for a change. He probably needs it, and that’s why he does stop at Monet’s for two coffees to take away. Despite doubling his usual intake of coffee, Clay still gets to Liberty all zoned out and tired, without uttering a word or knowing where he needs to go and why. 

Justin helps him out of the car and walks him to school, taking a detour by trying not to go anywhere near close the gym--thank God he doesn’t have PE today, or Justin would take Clay back home right fucking now. 

As Clay looks completely lost, Justin walks him to class, and even takes him to his seat, just to make sure he does get to the first period. He’ll text the group so everyone can look after him, as well. 

“Hey, Justin,” Jessica greets, stepping into the classroom, when she sees Clay’s face and lets out a chuckle. She cannot possibly understand. “Holy shit. What in the world happened to him? Did you get him stoned or something?” 

“Of course not,” scowls Justin, getting his cell phone out. Tony has gotten Ty to first the period safe and sound, as well. Maybe it’s going to be alright. “Can you keep an eye on him?” 

“Sure,” she nods, sitting by Clay’s side, who barely reacts when she greets him. She needs to pat him on the arm for Clay to turn his head towards her and address her a nod and a smile. “Should I be worried?” 

“He’ll be fine when he gets some sleep.” 

“Maybe he could do that at the infirmary,” suggests Jessica. 

Justin ponders for two seconds, but then refuses the idea. The infirmary is way too close to the gym. There is no way Clay will manage to fall asleep on any of those beds, not after tonight. 

“He’ll be fine. Text me if you need anything.” 

“So, it’s two people we’re taking care of today?” 

“Well, that’s what we do,” settles Justin as he leaves the classroom. “We have each other’s backs. It won’t be an ever-lasting situation, I promise.” 

In order to get to the first period in time, Justin runs through hallways and flights of stairs, but manages not to get detention, somehow. Jessica’s words stay with him throughout all of Geography, though, because she spoke nothing but the truth. They’re all messed up, even before Spring Fling, and up until now, Jensen was the one to glue them all together, to help each and every one of them out. If he falls. . . They’re all screwed. 

Every thirty minutes or so, Justin texts the group to check in with friends that have joint classes with Clay, and although they say he’s doing ‘fine’, they all agree--Clay’s a bit out of it today. By lunch, Justin sighs in relief when he sees Clay walking on his own and communicating with people, and he manages to sit at the same table as Tyler without suffering a panic attack that would trigger Ty off. 

His worst fears averted, Justin can tell Clay still hasn’t shaken off the exhaustion. He gets him another coffee, with similarly unsuccessful results, and asks Tony to walk Clay to class. 

“For real, Justin, is something wrong?” demands Jessica as they walk off to Spanish. 

“Nothing. He’s going to be fine,” he insists for the umpteenth time, but he couldn’t really come forward with Clay’s ails when they’re supposed to be walking Ty to class, as well. He’s almost started to believe his own lies, by now, and thinks there’s a possibility they’re all going to pull through this nightmarish day. 

That is, until the last period comes around. He’s constantly keeping an eye on his phone, and that’s why all of his alarms go off when Alex texts him saying Clay fell asleep during class. 

**Justin:**` let him sleep. `  
**Justin:** `be right there. `

After that, he can barely pay any attention to the lecture. As soon as the last bell rings, Justin jumps off his seat, dashes across the classroom, and sets off towards Clay’s--detentions be damned. By the time he gets to Literature classroom, every last student has filed out, except for Alex, sitting on the last row of seats, just by Clay’s side, who’s sleeping on the table. 

“Thanks, man,” appreciates Justin, shaking Alex’s hand. 

“No problem. I’ve texted Tyler too, I’m taking him home instead,” he says, speaking in whispers as not to wake Clay up. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even remember--” scowls Justin. It was Clay’s turn to drive Tyler back home and spend some part of the afternoon with him, if convenient. Today, that’s going to be quite impossible to manage. 

Alex dismisses Justin’s apologies with a wave of his hand, and looks back at Clay. Justin sighs deeply, regretting being put in a position where he’s forced to wake his brother up after he knows he had a terrible night, but the cannot simply leave him there taking a nap until tomorrow. 

To effectively and easily wake him up, Justin drops all of his books on Clay’s desk. Startled, he sits straight right away, looking around all confused. 

_“Dude!”_ he complains. “We need to talk about your bedside manners.” 

“And also the detention Alex has gotten you out of for sleeping in class.” 

It is then when Clay sees the empty classroom, then checks the clock up in the wall, and rubs his eyes tiredly, trying to will himself to wake up. 

“Shit. Thank you, man.” 

“No worries,” says Alex. He takes his backpack, pats Clay on the back, and leaves the classroom, limping slightly. He takes the extra measure of shutting the door behind him, and so Justin drops on the desk in front of Clay, one hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re clearly not okay, man.” 

“Whatever,” scowls Clay, picking up his books. 

“No, not whatever,” replies Justin. “You cannot keep this up. How can I help?” 

Clay’s startled for just a second and freezes just before zipping his backpack. Surprised that Justin’s first reaction to his ailings was asking what he, personally, can do to help out, instead of suggesting talking to his parents, or worse, a professional. Still, tiredness gets the best out of him, unfortunately. 

“You want to help? Go back in time and talk to Ty before he ever got to Spring Fling with all those guns.” 

“Yeah, let me check, but I think I left my time machine at home,” scowls Justin, not one bit discouraged by Clay’s more than aggressive response. “Seriously, man, you can trust me. What do you need to sleep properly?” 

“I don’t know, Justin,” Clay answers honestly, his shoulders dropping. “I guess I could try sleeping pills if these become a thing.” 

“And what if you get them before going to the doctor?” Justin presses, knowing that visiting a professional wasn’t even on the top ten possible solutions in Clay’s mind. 

Realizing he’s been busted, Clay sighs again, dropping on the desk. He rests on his backpack, staring through the windows at the bright afternoon waiting for them, without really having the strength to stand and go outside. After some seconds, he repeats the same vague, yet honest, answer he gave Justin earlier. 

“I really, _really,_ don’t know.” 

Justin doesn’t seem upset about Clay’s lack of cooperation. He just stands from the chair and goes to Clay’s side, resting a hand on his back to help him stand. 

“Come on, let’s go home and see if you can take a nap.” 

Except for sports practices and other extracurricular activities, the school is mostly empty now, and so Justin and Clay don’t meet any students nor teachers they need to give any answers or explanations to. Justin, carrying both their backpacks, walks Clay all across the school and then the empty lot, barely a car in sight currently. 

They don’t make it back home, however. Two blocks from the school, Justin realizes Clay’s fallen asleep by his side--a deep and peaceful slumber, now that they’re headed back home and away from school, and showing complete faith in Justin’s presence and his skills as a driver. It almost makes Justin laugh, but he keeps his cool as not to wake him up again. A smile’s plastered on his lips all the way across town and up to the moment where he parks on the sideway in front of home. 

Unable to bother Clay now that he’s catching up on most needed sleep, Justin goes to the outer house to get a soda, make a phone call to Jessica to promise that he’s taking good care of Clay, and returns to the car. He is going to stay there for Clay, and be there for him in case he does have any more nightmares. 

About one hour later, that Justin’s spent mainly eating and texting Jessica, Clay wakes up with a startle. But no screams, no gasping for air, not covered in sweat, just confused as to the time, the company, and his surroundings. 

“Hey,” Justin says, resting a hand on his chest to keep him steady before he injures himself. “You’re okay. Breathe.” 

Still shocked and shaken, Clay needs a minute to fully wake up, rubbing his eyes. 

“No nightmares?” asks Justin. 

“I don’t think so,” Clay says, sighing deeply, without really believing so himself. He then takes a look around and realizes where they are. “Why are we in the car?” 

“You fell asleep,” explains Justin. “Your folks aren’t back yet, so it’s fine.” 

"Right," Clay nods a couple of times, truly appreciating everything Justin's done for him today. “Well, let’s go,” he orders, taking his backpack. 

The nap has given him enough energy to tackle some homework, provided an afternoon snack. And although Justin hates his brother’s sense of responsibility, he’s kind of happy that Clay insists on them sitting down on their desk and getting some work done. That’s Clay, alright, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Plus, Clay needs to catch up on the notes, homework, and assignments he’s missed today. 

When Mr. and Mrs. Jensen return home, they do see Clay’s much more exhausted and quiet than usual at dinnertime, but they’re not as scared as they were in the morning. They still send him off to sleep early, though, and Justin agrees, that’s the best he can do at the moment. 

After returning to the outer house, Clay has barely got the energy to change into his pajamas before he drops dead on the bed. Justin, on the other hand, takes the comic book Clay lent him, turns on his bedside lamp, and sits on the floor by Clay’s bed. Close enough that they could hold hands if they reach out for each other. 

“You’re staying down there?” asks Clay after a minute. 

“Yes, man. Just in case you need anything,” Justin says, without raising his eyes from the comic. “Even if it’s just a reminder that you’re not back there, that you’re safe, and so is Tyler.” 

Clay’s response takes a full minute, so long that Justin had almost thought he’d fallen asleep again. “Thanks, man.” 

“Anytime.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Few weeks after Justin officially moves in with the Jensens, they have a family night out !

“Help me out, will you?” begs Lainie, standing in front of her husband, holing her hair to one side. Matt forgets about his tie and zips Lainie’s dress, and when he looks at her reflection on the mirror, he sees her distressed face. 

“You’re not nervous?” he asks, resting a hand on her shoulder. 

“Is it wrong that I am?” she replies with a chuckle, turning around to see the truth in Matt’s eyes if he were to lie to her. 

“No, I don’t think it’s wrong,” he says. “But there’s no reason for you to be. It’s a big day for the firm and a cause to celebrate, Lainie, nothing else.” 

“Right,” she nods, still not yet convinced. 

Just to avoid talking about the event any longer, Lainie picks up her heels and Matt stands now in front of the mirror to tie his tie. Lainie hands him his black jacket, then grabs her purse from the dresser, and they both stand in front of the mirror to check the final results. They’ll have to do. 

Matt takes her hand. “Ready? I’m sure the kids are waiting.” 

“Yes,” she says, a bit stressed out. 

It comes as a no surprise that Clay and Justin are already waiting for them downstairs, both wearing suits and ties as well. They smile at Mr. and Mrs. Jensen, but before any greetings or praises for their suits are delivered, Lainie takes a good look at Clay’s tie. 

“Honey, there’s a stain on it,” she says, pointing it out to him. Clay grabs the tie with frowned eyebrows before he lets out a scowl. 

“You can barely see it!” 

“ _I_ can see it.” 

“Motherhood gave you some sort of X-ray vision or something,” grumbles Clay. 

“Come on, go change, please,” begs Lainie. 

_“Seriously?”_

“Clay, honey, you are going to change, whatever you say. The more you argue, the later we’ll get there,” Lainie explains slowly. 

“Fine,” scowls Clay, untying his tie. He lays it on the kitchen countertop on his way to the outer house, not short of slamming the door shut to show how pissed off he is. Which only puts Lainie a little bit more on edge on a night she was already nervous to begin with. 

“Do I look OK?” asks Justin, almost as nervous as Lainie feels. He checks his tie and jacket, afraid that the colors won’t match, but he really couldn’t go wrong with a navy suit and tie. 

“Yes, you do, kiddo,” Matt reassures him. They can tell Justin’s still struggling with his ties, but no one’s asking him to perform a Windsor knot for any reason in particular. That, however, is the least of their worries: Lainie sees in Justin’s eyes the same nervousness she’s feeling. Seizing Clay’s absence, he dares to utter his concerns. 

“Do you really want me to go with you?” he asks. “This adoption thing is barely official yet. And with my past in the streets and my track record, your coworkers. . .” 

“They can go to Hell, if they don’t like it,” promises Lainie, addressing him a reassuring smile. It’s been only three weeks since Justin was released into the family’s custody, so the gala kinda is bad timing, although the idea of hiding Justin at home for fear of some gossip never crossed Lainie’s mind, not for a second. “You went to juvie for six months because you thought it was the right thing to do. If my colleagues can’t see that, just screw the lot of them.” 

“Lainie,” scoffs Matt. 

“But they won’t, I promise,” she tries to fix her words, gently squeezing Justin’s arm. He, on the other hand, just bursts out laughing at the reassuring way Mr. and Mrs. Jensen seem willing to stand by his side. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Jensen,” he appreciates. “And it’s long overdue, but you do look amazing.” 

“Thank you, darling.” 

“There, I’m changed,” announces Clay, sporting another black tie--but this one doesn’t have any stains on it, he shows it to his mother for her to check. 

“Let’s go, then,” says Matt, grabbing the family car keys. 

“Yes, please, let’s get into the car before Mom finds another excuse to torture me--” 

“Actually, Clay, what did you do with your hair?” asks her, reaching a hand. “It does look kind of funny--” 

“Mom!” complains Clay, jumping out of her reach before Lainie tries fixing whatever was wrong with his hair. 

This time, however, she was just messing with him, and she bursts out laughing, joined immediately by the rest of the family, as she leads the way to the car. On the sidewalk, Clay gives in and allows his mother to hug him and even give him a kiss before stepping into the car. 

“Are we excited?” Lainie asks from the front seat, clapping her hands. 

“Sure,” nods Justin, looking at Clay for him to give a more elaborate answer. 

“Oh, this will be the highlight of my week, perhaps even my entire month, I’m sure,” says Clay. Neither Matt nor Lainie seem to realize the sarcasm hidden in their voices, though, and as Matt drives off, the two boys chuckle under their breath. This event has been a dreadful date on the calendar since they heard about it. 

“Don’t worry. We will not be staying too long,” Lainie promises one last time at the elevator on their way up to the law firm, upon their long and appalled faces. “Just enough time to meet my coworkers, shake a few hands, and listen to the speeches.” 

Despite her assurances, as soon as the elevator doors open, Lainie greets one of her coworkers with a broad smile and a warm hug, introducing herself to the family. Soon enough she’s already mingling amongst all the lawyers of the firm and their families and friends, leaving Matt, Justin, and Clay a bit confused and uncertain of how to act without Lainie’s intermediation. 

The firm is bursting with lawyers, their families and friends, soft music, loud conversations, and celebration. It’s no surprise, after all the firm has been nominated for an Excellence Award and this is the party to commemorate it, even on a Sunday afternoon. The Jensen family couldn’t be happier and prouder for Lainie and her coworkers. . . Only, the three men feel a bit out of place and don’t know how to engage a conversation, even to engage the fantastic work of all the lawyers. 

“Well. . . I suppose I’m in charge of introducing you two to everybody,” says Matt, failing at trying not to sound as nervous as he looks. “Let me get something to drink and we’ll get right to it.” 

“Dad?” Clay calls him out before he vanishes amongst the crowed. “D’you think _we_ could have something to drink, as well?” 

Matt ponders for all of five seconds and then takes a look around, trying to pinpoint his wife amongst the crowd of lawyers and guests. “Maybe a glass of champagne won’t hurt. But don’t let your mother see you two.” 

“No, sir,” Justin and Clay agree at the same time. 

With Mrs. Jensen gone who knows where and talking to God knows whom, Matt walks the office and introduces Clay and Justin to the few lawyers he knows by name and their families--the other colleagues just keep on showing up behind their backs and doing the introductions themselves. At some point, however, after shaking so many hands and forgetting as many names, Justin and Clay are left to fend for themselves, for Matt’s pulled in on some deep conversation about some author or another. 

Every coworker of Lainie remarks, without fail, on how much has Clay grown since they last saw him, and praise his mother’s virtues and excellent work at the firm. On the other hand, in case someone hadn’t yet heard so, everyone is informed by Justin himself that he’s being adopted by the Jensens and will soon be Clay’s legal brother, too. He meets some raised eyebrows of surprise, but not a single rejection or hatred--not openly, in any case. 

“Just don’t mind them,” is Clay’s advice when they’re finally left alone after a while. “You don’t have to worry about any of those idiots. They’re not the ones adopting you.” 

“Sure,” nods Justin, grabbing another flute of champagne from a passerby waitress. 

“I hope it wasn’t too dreadful,” says Lainie, a couple of hours later, back in the car, apologetic tone. 

“Not at all,” says Justin out of compromise. 

He finds himself unable to meet Mrs. Jensen’s eye,, he’s keeping his head dropped and playing with the lower part of his tie. He’d never attended a family social event that required suit and tie and, all in all, he’s still a bit shocked and shaken after it. Well, he’s never attended a family event before in his life, point. Sure, he’s had graduations and parties with Bryce, but never spent a day out with his mother, much less on such a special social event like the one he’s just left. 

“I might even go as far as saying that I had fun,” says Clay. 

“That’s fantastic,” approves Lainie. 

“Listen, kids, are you hungry?” asks Matt then. Given the fact that there were more drinks than food at that party, he wouldn’t be surprised if the kids ravaged the fridge once they got home. Since they’re driving through the city, all the restaurants still open, might as well make another stop tonight. 

“Yes, please, let’s stop even at a drive-through,” begs Clay. “Justin?” 

“I could do with eating something, yeah,” Justin says, still learning, slowly, not to be ashamed to openly express his needs and wishes in front of Mr. and Mrs. Jensen. 

“Of course, you would,” chuckles Matt. “Well, then, let’s go out with a bang, shall we?” 

“Dad, no one says that anymore,” complains Clay. 

His father’s idea of ‘going out with a bang’ is to stop by the BBQ restaurant and have a proper dinner. Clay’s the first one to take off his tie, knowing Justin was dying to do so the minute they left the party, and Matt also follows their suit, entering the restaurant with their sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Only Lainie steps in dressed as formal as she was at the reception at her firm. And although their looks are a bit formal for the family place they’ve chosen, they could care less as a waitress walks them to an empty booth. 

After ordering sodas, hamburgers, and salads to share, dinner unfolds just like it so usually does back at home, with Clay and Justin hogging the limelight and the conversation, letting Mr. and Mrs. Jensen put in a random word now and then. 

They’re talking excitedly about a new blockbuster movie that’s going to be released soon and they all want to go see when Lainie points it out for the first time across the table. 

“Justin, honey, are you OK? You’re a bit red.” 

“I’m fine,” he replies, his mouth full. “It’s just hot.” 

“Not that much,” scowls Clay, resting a hand on his forehead. “You’re not running a fever, though.” 

“I’m fine!” promises Justin, although Matt still pours him a bit more of soda. 

The conversation and dinner resume for a few minutes, everyone keeping a wary eye on Justin in case he doesn’t feel right. When he starts coughing, they interrupt the chitchat to ask for a glass of water. All three family members can see Justin’s face has gotten much redder over the last few minutes. The fact that he’s left his hamburger half-eaten on the dish indicates he is definitely not alright. 

“Justin?” asks Clay, rubbing his back. 

“I. . . I think I’m having trouble breathing,” he says, hands on his neck. 

_“What?”_ Clay shrieks, holding him by the shoulder. 

Lainie takes charge right away, grabbing her purse and taking out the car keys. She sends Matt to fetch the car as Clay helps Justin out of the booth and she explains the situation to the manager, giving him all the cash she carried--all of fifty dollars. 

If asked later, Clay couldn’t recall much from the trip to the hospital, it’s all a blur of frighted conversations and hurry. All of a sudden he finds himself by Justin’s bedside, watching him sleep peacefully at last after the doctors gave him some antihistamine, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. Only then he can begin to put some of the pieces back together. 

He knows his father jumped a few red lights on the way--if not all of them. He knows Justin was really struggling to breathe, in spite of the open windows and all the reassuring words from his family. He remembers the crippling fright, the car honks all around. The street lamps shedding light on Justin’s confused, red, frightened face. 

Now, finally, it’s all over. Clay can hear the doctor talking to his parents behind the curtains of Justin’s bed, but he doesn’t want to leave, in case Justin woke up. He’s already been assured Justin’s going to be fine, he does not need, for the moment, any more explanations. No, that’ll come later. 

At that moment, Justin opens his eyes and gasps for air, scared--blessing the fact that now he _can_ breathe deeply and properly. He looks around, confused as to the unknown bed he’s lying on and the strange white lights and walls that do not belong to their outer house at the Jensen’s. 

“Hey. Justin,” Clay calls him out. 

He jumps off the chair and grabs Justin’s hand, tightly. At seeing his brother, Justin is able to finally calm down for real and for some seconds, just focuses on the basic instincts of inhaling and exhaling, to make sure he is able to. 

“It seems you’re going to pull through,” informs Clay in a too melodramatic way. “You’re one lucky bastard. Nothing can kill you.” 

“Remember: what doesn’t kill you--” says Justin, his voice hoarse. 

“Trust me, you don’t need to be any stronger,” scowls Clay. “Unless you’re planning on fighting Iron Man himself with your bare hands.” 

Justin bursts out laughing at that, to which Clay freaks out, in case he cannot breathe properly because of him. For a second, it does seem like Justin has a hard time breathing, but he just raises one hand to keep Clay away and give him some space--Mr. and Mrs. Jensen show up then, scared out of their minds. Justin then lies back on the bed, inhaling and exhaling deeply, until he nods to prove to everyone he’s alright. 

“Okay, no jokes,” understands Clay under the stares of all his family members and two nurses, raising his hands. He retreats back to his seat as Mr. and Mrs. Jensen approach the bed to check in on Justin. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“Food allergy, probably,” says Matt. “Doctors don’t know to what exactly, but we’re going to write down a list of everything you ate tonight.” 

“Now?” asks Justin, a little bit of fright in his voice, for he’s not up to it, not by a very long shot. Lainie responds with a warm smile, caressing his arm tenderly. 

“No, not tonight. Come morning, the doctors are going to run some tests.” 

“Thank you,” appreciates Justin, closing his eyes. 

Lainie looks over to Clay, by the other end of the bed, to suggest he should go home to rest as well, but she sees in his eyes that’s going to be a big fat no from him. She surrenders the fight before loses her temper at a very bad place and timing. Instead, she just sends Matt home and they agree he’ll take a taxi so Lainie can, later on, drive Justin and Clay back home in the family car. 

“Goodbye, kiddo,” Matt bids farewell to the boys, although it seems Justin’s out of it already. For that reason, Clay leaves Justin all alone for the first time since he’s been hospitalized to have a chat. 

“Clay, honey, you can relax now,” says Lainie with a chuckle, seeing her son all nervous and freaked out still. “You heard the doctors, Justin’s going to be just fine.” 

“And the adoption? Won’t this affect--” 

“No, it won’t, honey,” she reassures him with a warm smile. 

“He could have died, Mom!” 

“But he didn’t,” she insists, deadpan serious, knowing waving his worries away isn’t the best strategy to get Clay to simmer down. “We made it to the hospital in time, he’s now getting the treatment he needs, and we’re going to figure out what he’s allergic to and be very careful from now on. 

“Darling, we’re doing everything we can, the best we can,” she reminds him, soft and warm voice. “We asked Justin if he had any allergies and he said he didn’t. We couldn’t have known if he had no idea in the first place. These are rookie, first-time parents mistakes that are to be expected. The social workers will go through how we faced those problems, but will not deny us Justin’s legal custody for a mistake. I promise you. It’s going to be fine.” 

“You make sure the doctors run every test there is,” begs Clay. “Every. Single. Possible. Test. Okay?” 

“Okay, honey,” accepts Lainie, cupping Clay’s cheek. 

“Jensen,” Justin yells from his bed. “Stop freaking out, or else I’ll order the doctors to give you some drugs to put you down for good.” 

Sighing for being called out in the middle of the hospital, but showing a small smile at hearing Justin acting his usual self and joking around, Clay lets his mother leave and returns to Justin’s bedside. It’s great and a relief to see him awake still, he sighs deeply, dropping on the chair. 

“I’m now pissed off that they saved your life,” scowls Clay. 

“No, you’re not,” scoffs Justin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like the story so far !! Unfortunately, due to personal reasons -- family stuff and so -- I won't be able to write and/or publish anything for a little while, so I apologize in advance for the hiatus. . . I promise to come back as soon as humanly possible !!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liberty High plays another terrible football game, but there are some silver linings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here in Spain, we're quarantined because of the Covid-19 situation, which has given me some unexpected time to sit down and start writing again... Probably will be able to write and publish another chapter before this whole thing blows over.  
> Hope you and your family members and friends are doing OK wherever you live !! Sending my best wishes to all of you out there !

Number 11 from Evermour High kicks the ball. . . And scores a neatly try. 

As the ball flies perfectly amongst the two steel posts, depressing groans raise from the Liberty stands, which is pretty much all they’ve been doing throughout the game. Excited as they were at the beginning--new game, new Liberty--the eagerness soon vanished when classmates, families, and friends saw they were headed to another big loss. 

And indeed, they’re taking a heavy beating. Another one, scowls Justin, elbows resting on his knees, kicking the ground at his feet. He might not have been kicked out of the team because of drug problems, but him being a part of the team hasn’t made a difference whatsoever. 

“You suck!” someone yells by his back, and Justin, as well as some other players, have to fight off the instinct of jumping to their feet and addressing the hooligan. They’re not wrong, after all. And they shouldn’t, under any circumstance, give Evermour the satisfaction of putting up an unnecessary ugly show. 

“What’s going on, coach? What the hell is the team doing this year?” 

“Come on, you have to buy a ticket if you want to play like that!” 

The insults, complaints, and snide remarks have been raising a few minutes after the beginning of the game, throughout the first half, the intermission, and almost the entirety of the second half, now. Not that Justin and the rest of the team disagree. They do suck, and they’re doing a poor job upholding Liberty High’s reputation at sports. Some fans are leaving the game after throwing their drinks and food over to the field. 

_Yeah, I know the feeling,_ scowls Justin, checking the time. They can only pray time speeds up so their shame ends as soon as possible. 

“Foley, you’re up,” the coach orders, hitting his shoulder. 

Unable to point out that changing players at this late hour is useless and quite frankly, embarrassing, Foley picks up his helmet and goes out to the field to replace Liam. Zach welcomes him back with a shake of hands and points him over to his spot. Per following Zach’s instructions, they get in position, waiting to play ball. 

By the time the referee whistles the game to an end, it truly is a blessing in disguise, and groans from players, coaches, and fans raise up and down the field. Team members take off their helmets, drop on the ground with exasperation, and fans file out of the school grounds. On the other hand, Evermour celebrates big, for they’ve had a clear and easy advantage from the beginning, and have a shot at this year’s Cup. Last year, things were extremely different. 

Justin and some of the players return to the benches, defeated dispositions, accepting towels and bottles of water, although they’d much prefer alcoholic drinks to drown in the despair. 

“Team meeting in five!” Zach orders, leading the way to the lockers. 

No one’s really in the mood for a pep talk, Justin reflects, as none of the team members follow Zach’s suit. No one’s up to assess what went wrong tonight and what can be improved. What’s the damn point? 

“You heard the cap,” scowls the coach. “Get your asses up, right now!” 

At that, everyone obliges the command, deep down relieved to have an excuse to get out of the field and out of sight from friends and family. 

“What a year,” scowls Paul, behind Justin. 

“We’re not going to win anything this season.” 

“At this point, I’d be glad if we won any game at all.” 

“Hey! Justin!” 

Justin turns around to see Jessica chasing them across the field. He barely has the time to drop his helmet so he can welcome her into his arms and melt into a deep, passionate kiss--the game all but forgotten now. They even get some cheers and banter from the guys, joking they wish they had a girlfriend who’d chase their sorrows away, too. 

“Piss off,” scowls Justin when he briefly pulls away from Jess. 

“Yeah, better give them some privacy,” someone says. The jokes continue until the very last player gets inside the lockers, and Justin puts Jessica back on the floor. 

“You’re nearly as bad a player as I was a cheerleader,” she says against his lips. 

“I know,” chuckles Justin. 

“I just had to erase that sad little puppy face of yours,” says Jessica, crossing her arms around Justin’s neck to forbid him from ever breaking the kiss. 

“Yeah. I know you how much you hate it.” 

“I don’t hate it,” she replies, feeling the surprise in Justin’s kiss. “I find it adorable. And terribly irresistible. That’s what irked me.” 

“We should lose more often,” says Justin. Despite the devastating loss, he’s feeling much better now, after sixty seconds alone with Jessica--although not really alone, he’s completely aware his team members are only a few feet away, that they’re on school grounds, and worse, that Jessica’s and Clay’s parents are around. 

“The way you were playing? You can count on consolation sex after every game.” 

“Foley!” Ben calls him in a yell from the lockers’ entrance. “Stop making out with your girlfriend and come inside. Captain has a word to say.” 

“Be right there,” promises Justin, still having eyes solely for Jessica. When Ben’s steps vanish, he leans for one more lingering kiss. “Wait for me?” 

“Don’t make me wait too long,” begs Jessica, kissing him again--letting him know what he’ll be missing out if she gets tired of waiting. Understanding, Justin lets out a soft chuckle and reluctantly walks back. 

“No, ma’am,” he promises, winking at her just before disappearing into the lockers room. 

Inside, the smug smile he simply can’t erase crashes drastically with the team members’ moods and energies. He clears his throat, knowing he’s going to be on the receiving end of so many jokes because of his blush and him making out with Jess out in the open, as he finds a seat on the benches. Taking a look around, at all the sour and depressed faces, the tired shoulders dropped, it’s easy to remember the gigantic loss they suffered out there, and the toll it took on everyone. No, this hasn’t been Liberty’s best season. 

“Listen up,” yells Zach, and the few conversations die out. “I won’t lie to you. There’s no way of sugarcoating things: that was bad. _Really_ bad. We sucked. We all know we’ve got a very hard and a very long--” 

“Shaft?” Montgomery provides before he and some more guys burst out laughing. 

“Shut the fuck up, Monty,” scowls Justin. He suppresses the urge to fight Monty and his boys for interrupting the captain’s speech with a lame-ass joke that had no place or time here, but he knows that would only reflect badly on Zach, so he weathers through. The captain still acknowledges his efforts with an appreciative nod. 

“The road ahead of us is very long,” Zach resumes his speech. “And difficult. Impossible, maybe. And, let’s be realistic, we might not get a chance at the Cup this year. 

“But I’m going to tell you one thing. Here’s the thing I’m taking from this game. For the first time this season, I saw a real team out there. We were a team. We executed our tactics perfectly, we covered each other’s asses, and no one got hurt or banned unnecessarily. And that’s a win in my book!” 

Somehow, Zach always manages to see the silver linings in every game they play, Justin reflects as the whole team erupts in applause and cheers. No matter how much they sucked--and lately, they suck really bad. Everyone knows why they made him the captain of the team instead of Montgomery. He would have been a disaster. 

“Come on, we meet for drinks at Martin’s!” says Zach. 

Drowning the sorrows of the loss in drinking does lift up the guy’s spirits as they head to the showers. Justin achieves to shower and change in record time: five minutes later, he goes outside, zipping his jumper up to the base of his neck, his sports bag hanging from his shoulder. . . And, besides Jessica, he finds Clay there, holding a beer and a hotdog. 

“What is this, my fucking consolation prize?” he scowls. 

“What? No, this is for me,” says Clay, in a blatant lie, taking too big a bite from the hot dog. “Dad just wanted to know how you were doing, and wondered if you wanted a lift home.” 

“You can report back that I’m doing fine, thank you,” sighs Justin. “And, actually, the guys and I are going to Martin’s for a few drinks. You can come if you want--” 

It was the wrong thing to say and the realization dawns on him before he finishes that sentence. By the way Jessica’s face drops and Clay chokes on his hot dog, they won’t be accepting the invitation--or any invitation to a party--any time soon. They’ll have to think about that one, they cannot have them traumatized towards parties. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, reaching a hand out for Jessica. She doesn’t reject him, which is always a good sign, no matter how bad he messes up. 

“It’s OK, babe,” she replies, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Have fun.” 

“Don’t come home too late,” adds Clay, taking the role of an overprotective father in the absence of Mr. and Mrs. Jensen. “And don’t drink and drive. Give me a call if you need a ride home.” 

“Hey, you know what you can do?” scoffs Justin, as Clay starts walking away. “Stop being my mother.” 

“Tough luck!” replies Clay in a yell, shrugging his shoulders at him. Justin chuckles at Clay’s back, though. Deep down, he does appreciate having a brother who gives a damn about his drinking or if he gets home at all after a party. 

Jessica demands his full attention at that moment, crossing her arms around his neck, sinking her fingers into his hair, and Justin grins playfully. 

“Where were we?” 

Knowing the other boys might take some time still, Justin takes Jess back to the football pitch. The game finished now, both teams gone from the field, the stands are completely empty and most of the lights turned off. The security guards won’t be back till tomorrow morning and there are only a few cleaning services who Justin and Jessica couldn’t care less about. It all gives them some precious minutes alone before they part ways for the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three-word summary: Jensen family portraits !

The results, per usual, are hilarious. They do everything they can to make each other laugh and make the other look as horrible as possible, resorting to tactics such as tickling, making funny faces and poses, or using one of the machine’s lame-ass special effects. As always, watching now the ensuing outcome of their madness, they’re laughing out loud by the photo booth, and they couldn’t care less about unknown passerby surprised and shocked by their show. 

It’s just routine, now. Every time the two boys go to the shopping mall, whatever the reason--whether it is a gathering with their friends, watching a movie, or dinner with the Jensens--they find themselves down here. At home, they cut and split the pictures between the two. Clay’s storing all of them inside a box on his side of the bed, where he treasures his most precious belongings, a box Justin has only seen some of its contents on occasion. 

As per Justin, he keeps all of those silly pictures inside his wallet. He never had portraits he wanted to carry with him at all times. Jessica had given him a picture of her back when they were dating, but he didn’t carry a wallet then--he didn’t own any legal money, back then. 

“Should we go get an ice-cream?” suggests Justin. 

“Sure,” nods Clay, checking the hour on his cell phone. 

“Relax, man, I’ll get you to your date in time,” Justin chuckles, leading the way to the escalators. 

“For the last time, it’s not a date,” Clay insists. “Ani and I are just meeting to do some homework.” 

“I really, really need to give you recommendations on more interesting places to take a girl to. And more interesting activities, as well,” sighs Justin, shaking his head at Clay’s ignorance on this field in particular. 

“I know plenty of places to take girls to.” 

“Really?” scoffs Justin. 

At that moment, karma plays a nice little trick on him, to Clay’s biggest delight: as shocked as he was by the revelation, he wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings and he nearly trips and falls when he reaches the top of the escalators, and to save his ass, he crashes against a man carrying a few shopping bags. 

“Sorry!” apologizes Justin, kneeling to get all those bags for the man. Where Clay’s concerned, he stands back, without meaning to give Justin any help. When the man leaves, he resumes their previous conversation as if nothing had happened. 

“Yes, really. Hence, this is not a date,” he concludes. 

For the next thirty minutes, Clay and Justin stroll the shopping mall, wandering without any goals in mind. Their first stop is the ice-cream truck, but then they walk north to south nonchalantly. They check out books, comics, and videogames, although they do not buy anything in the end. 

As the time of Clay’s not-a-date date approaches, however, he grows ever so nervous and restless, checking his phone almost every minute. Before he gets on Justin’s nerves altogether, he leads the way to the cafeteria. 

“Hey, Justin,” says Clay then, stopping in the middle of the open foyer so suddenly that Justin almost crashes against him, too. “You. . . Are not. . .” 

“No, man, don’t worry--I’m leaving,” Justin eases his worries in a chuckle. “I won’t bother you and your lady.” 

“Oh, piss off,” scowls Clay, resuming his walking. 

“There are so many other ways to spend an afternoon. Perhaps one day, when you reach my age, you’ll understand,” says Justin, stopping ten feet from the cafeteria. 

“We’re the same age.” 

“Bye, Clay,” Justin bids farewell, putting on his sunglasses. 

In spite of all the jokes and banter, Clay says goodbye with a smile and a barely noticeable blush as he enters the café. Justin stands there for all of two seconds before he turns around to leave the shopping mall, crashing Clay’s not-a-date date being the last thing on his to-do list today. 

A lifetime ago, Justin would have no problem spending a whole afternoon away from home--as a matter of fact, he always used to spend as much time as possible away from his Mom’s place. Back then, he’d give Bryce a call and invite himself over to his house, where they’d hang out together for hours on end, playing videogames, playing cards, drinking, and getting stoned. 

That’s no longer an option, now, he reflects. Those days are long gone. Calling Bryce would be an unforgivable crime, and attempting to spend a whole afternoon with him seems. . . Unfathomable, to say the least. 

He doesn’t mind not having plans whatsoever. This feeling of freedom, of complete carefree, getting to spend an afternoon under the hot sun walking across town. . . It’s much different now. He’s not avoiding and dreading home. He knows that, at the end of the day, he gets to have dinner with people who care about him, who actually and willingly want to spend time with him. 

People who have invited him into their home with open arms, offered him a roof, a shelter, a safe place. Sane and sensible people who take care of his needs, who don’t abuse him or let other people abuse him. 

Once again Justin finds himself thinking-- _how did I get so damn lucky?_ All his life, he’d always met closed doors. Until he met Bryce, and although he loved him like a brother, because they were, for so many years, Justin depended on him in ways that in the long run became toxic. When they fell apart, he found himself in the seventh hell--until the Jensens threw him a life raft. 

But it’s different now with the Jensens than with the Walkers, too. Clay’s folks are providing him with what he needs, yes, but not in the way to make him dependable of their care, too. From tying his own tie to cooking pancakes or solving math problems he’d always struggled with at school, they’re giving him the opportunity to learn things on his own and grow, on his terms and pace. Not to mention, he got a job and is now earning a real living, and he’s got some savings, now--to the point where the Jensens opened a bank account for him and he’s got a credit card to do with it as he pleases. 

Yeah, things truly have turned inside out for him, Justin reflects as he turns the corner to their street. From the shopping mall, it’s a thirty-minute walk back to the house, but it was such a nice day out that Justin felt compelled to take a detour. It’s been now more than an hour since he said goodbye to Clay and left him on his not-a-date date with Ani. 

Knowing that the house should be empty at this hour, Justin goes through the front door entrance. They gave him a key on that first day where he accepted to being adopted by the family--they’d given some thought to the idea already--but he’s barely ever used it, for he usually goes straight to the outer house. 

Justin does enjoy being alone at home and walking around, shoes off. He used to skip so many days and spend hours on end at Bryce’s, stoned, staring at Bryce’s trophy collection, his guitar, and other belongings--tokens kept by parents who cared about Bryce and wanted to make a show of his achievements. Materialistic things that Justin’s mother never really cared for. 

He used to stare longingly at the family pictures he would never be part of, at all the spare space that Mansion had, the clean and tidy rooms, the food in the fridge; and wondered what it was to have a normal, caring family and a home. 

Today, he doesn’t have to wonder, for he’s got it all, now. He looks at the family portraits with a sense of belonging, not longing, because he’s finally up there on the wall, with the Jensens. 

They first went to take a picture of the four of them the weekend after Justin agreed to being adopted by the Jensens. They went again for Clay’s birthday a few weeks later, and he insisted they all should suit up for the occasion. There are a handful more pictures of just him and Clay, the family’s kids. 

It’s not only the two of them, though: they hung up a few pictures of Clay and Justin and the gang. Just because Clay had finally found good friends to hang around with, in a similar way that Clay had given Justin a family. 

“Oh,” says Matt, scaring the hell out of Justin as he pops up from his study. “Didn’t know you were back, kiddo.” 

“Uh. . . Just got here,” says Justin. 

“I see. Clay’s in your room?” asks Matt, looking through the windows to the outer house. 

“No, he. . . He stopped by the Library to pick up a book,” lies Justin, without feeling any remorse for that white lie. Despite all their jokes, Clay’s his brother, and every day they prove they’re worthy of each other’s trust, by not telling them on their folks. 

“Well, I’ve got some papers to grade, so I won’t be much company, I’m afraid.” 

“That’s okay. I’ve got. . . Stuff to do, too.” 

Picking up his shoes and putting the sunglasses away, Justin heads for the outer house across the kitchen, but Matt stops him before he gets out. 

“Kiddo, d’you want some pancakes?” suggests Matt. 

“Sure,” nods Justin, a big grin on his lips now. 

“Let’s see how well you listened the last time,” Mr. Jensen dares him, putting his pen and papers on the kitchen table, away from danger if there were any culinary accidents. 

Justin’s not even remotely hungry, not after the ice-cream before, but he will never refuse food, especially not Matt’s delicious pancakes. He grabs two aprons and throws one to Mr. Jensen after he stands from taking out two frying pans from the cabinet. Justin used to spend hours on end without eating any food, his stomach grumbling at any given time of the day--it’s very hard for him to refuse food when offered willingly. 

Because of that, he’s suffered terrible stomach aches ever since the Jensens took him in and he had at his disposal more food than he could ever consume and digest. Having a fridge in their freaking room is close to a miracle for him--a fridge he can fill himself with the wages he earns from an honorable job, no less. 

He’s yet to learn his lesson, however, and to this day, he still eats way too much. Not that any of the Jensen family members have ever proved to be annoyed because of it. They’ve improved his life a thousand times for the better, that’s for sure, and there’s no way he can ever repay them for it. 

“Thanks,” he says when Mr. Jensen offers him his dish--Justin’s batch pales in comparison to Mr. Jensen’s pancakes. No amount of words will ever be enough to express his deepest gratitude towards the Jensens, but he keeps trying day after day nonetheless. “Thank you so much.” 

“You’re more than welcome. Go ahead, dig in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was SO mad at the TV show when apparently the Jensens hadn't thought of taking any family pictures with Justin. . . So here's my fixing that !!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin's a cinnamon roll and he proves so day by day.

“You know, you make it feel like it’s 1875. The phone was invented for a reason, Justin, and that was to facilitate the communication amongst people,” Clay scowls as he leaves like the fifth message on a row. “Pick up your damned phone, Justin. Or, better yet, show up home. Mom and Dad are worried, too. You better have a very good explanation for this. Oh, and, BTW, your girlfriend's been waiting for you, as well. Better show up before she reconsiders her life choices and dumps you.” 

With that, he slams the phone against the desk and runs a hand through his hair, a bit concerned now, as well. Outside, the summer storm has finally hit the city with just as much violence as strength as promised. . . Justin was supposed to be back from the gym an hour ago and has given no proof of life, or called. 

Behind him, Jessica laughs and Clay turns around. Justin and Jessica were supposed to go on a date this afternoon, although they probably forgot to check the forecast. Since Justin’s AWOL, she’s just lying on the couch, legs under her, after spending an embarrassing amount of time just snooping around their room and, oftentimes, teasing Clay and Justin’s belongings. She’s never had the chance to do so before, she said. 

“You _do_ love him,” she chuckles. 

“Sometimes,” Clay shrugs. “Right now, I’d like to kill him.” 

Restless, he cannot, for the life of him, join Jessica down at the couch. It’s three in the afternoon, but dark clouds hover over the city and it’s so dark outside that they need the lights on. Nervous, Clay finds any excuse not to sit on his hands. 

“Can I offer you something to drink? Beer, Coke?” he asks, already on his way to the fridge. Lightning strikes really close and then the consequent thunder startles him a bit, making him miss the handle. 

“You’re _not_ out of Fanta?” Jessica says, a bit shocked. 

Clay shakes his head and shows a can of the beverage she asked for. She shrugs in the universal gesture of ‘I don’t mind’ and Clay returns to the couch with those two cans. He leaves a respectful distance between him and Jessica and makes it a point to sit properly and not slouch, showing poorly manners. Even though she’s lying there, as comfortable as it gets. 

“Didn’t know you were such a Fanta drinker,” he points out. 

“I’m really not,” she chuckles after her first sip. Clay almost jumps off the couch to offer her any other beverage, but she stops him grabbing his wrist. “But you are, aren’t you?” 

“How do you know?” 

“Justin,” she shrugs. 

At the mention of his name, she looks sideways at the entrance, waiting to see him appear. She pretends she isn’t, but she’s just as nervous and worried as the rest of the family members--Matt and Lainie have already stopped by twice to check if Justin had got home safe and sound. It’s just a little water, Clay tells himself again, staring at the pouring rain outside. No need to go search for him. 

In the meantime, she’s stuck with Clay here in the outer house. She doesn’t seem to mind the happenstance half as much as Clay does. 

“He spends the days talking about you,” she says with a warm smile. 

“He. . . He does?” asks Clay, shocked now. 

“Yeah,” says Jessica. 

“Bad things, I expect?” 

“Mostly,” she says. “He can go on and on and on about all the annoying things that you do.” 

“Oh, he can, can he?” scowls Clay, not enjoying the turn of the conversation as much as Jessica believes he does. “Well, I could tell you all about Justin--”

“Dear God, it was a joke, Clay,” chuckles Jessica, resting a hand on his elbow to stop his babbling and pissed-off ranting before he begins it. “Evidence points to you being an adorable little brother.” 

“Here’s that word again,” he sighs, dropping his head. _Adorable. Is that how all girls see him?_

Another lightning and thunder strike really close to home. The nervousness steals a fit of awkward laughter from them, as they shift to look over the couch, waiting to see Justin. Miracles just don’t happen that way because one wishes to, though. 

“So. . . You know all about me, huh?” asks Clay, just a little bit worried about what sorts of things Justin would have told Jessica. He knows Justin would never betray his trust, so he can relax in that regard. 

“Pretty much, yeah. I know you hate wearing wool--be it socks, T-shirts, or even blankets.” 

“Let me take an educated guess about _you,_ then,” suggests Clay, stopping Jessica before she embarrasses him with some sort of private anecdote or shameful story about his past. He stands and goes to the cupboard against the wall. “Would you like. . . This?" he asks, showing Justin’s hoodie. 

Jessica almost yelps at that, reaching for the hoodie. Clay guessed she was getting cold with that short summer dress and he’s seen her wearing that hoodie one too many times, already. Although he’s not free of sin in that regard, either. Only too often does he steal that hoodie and puts it on, for comfort and warmth.

“There is one thing he hasn’t told me about, though,” Jessica points out, wrapping the long hoodie around her body. Clay raises an eyebrow, giving her a free card to ask away--whether he answers or not, that’s another matter altogether. “What is it like, living with Justin?” 

“You planning on moving in together soon? ‘Cause you should prepare yourself for a permanent messy room, bathroom, and kitchen,” says Clay, waving around with his hand, letting her know what’s in store for her. 

“Not _that_ soon,” she laughs. “I just wondered. I’ve never seen him so happy before, you know? And I can see it’s all because of you and your parents. I truly appreciate what you and your family’s doing for him. He’s changed so much. . .” 

“Yeah, he was an asshole,” agrees Clay, spitting the word. For so long, Justin Foley was, to him, another thick and dumb star athlete who had the world at his feet and contributed to make people’s lives hell--Clay’s included. Things have changed a lot. “Now he’s a _slightly_ more tolerable asshole who’ll share my last name.” 

Jessica laughs, shaking her head at the more than obvious lies Clay’s uttering. 

“But, well, the thing is, we only want to help him,” he says then, finally being honest with Jess. Although that’s not entirely true either, not anymore, at least. They took him in to help him when he had nowhere else to go and he needed to detox. But they want him to stay with them for so many other reasons. “I always wanted a brother.” 

Before she can give him an answer, the door slams open, making Jess and Clay yelp and jump from the sofa. The thunderous storm amplified a dozen times due to the open door, Justin steps in, dripping wet, head dropped against the wind and rain. When he reaches the middle of the room, he flashes a warm smile at Clay, and then his face drops--had not remembered Jess was supposed to stop by. 

“Well, there he is,” sighs Jessica, relieved beyond belief. 

“Dude, where the hell were you?” scowls Clay, looking at the small pool of water forming under Justin’s feet, the mud he brought in with him. “You’re soaking wet! Did you swim here or what?” 

“I--” 

“Justin. You’re home. Finally,” says Matt, showing at the doorstep, Lainie following behind, worried looks on their faces. They, too, have been waiting anxiously for Justin to return home. Clay can almost picture them standing by the living room windows, waiting to see his figure through the rain. 

“I’m sorry, I guess I lost track of time,” he excuses himself. 

“Are you injured?” shrieks Matt, for Justin was holding his arms in a strange angle, his poncho over his arm, which would have helped him not getting soaked to the bone. 

“No, I’m fine,” promises Justin, dropping the jacket on his bed very carefully. “Hey, there, little fella. It’s okay, now.” 

Everyone steps forward to find out what he’s hiding, but then Justin turns around holding a small puppy in his arms, shivering from the cold. He caresses the puppy’s head tenderly, just as an “Aww” response raises amongst the witnesses--except for Clay, who just takes one step back. 

“ _That’s_ the reason why you stopped answering your phone?” shrieks Clay. 

“Sorry, I had my hands busy,” Justin explains. He was certainly using his jacket and arms to protect the puppy from the storm, sacrificing, perhaps, his own health by getting a freaking summer cold. 

“I just. . . Found him,” explains Justin, cuddling the dog. “Could we keep him?” 

“Don’t you dare say yes,” scowls Clay, pointing at his parents with an accusatory index finger. 

“Why not, honey?” asks Lainie. 

“Why not?” shrieks Clay. “Well, a, I’m allergic!” 

“You've got a _mild_ allergy, Clay,” Jessica points out. Charmed by the puppy, she’s stepped forward and taken the animal from Justin’s arms, holding him tight. The dog, delighted, has already started licking her hands. 

“Hey, you do not have a say in this argument,” scowls Clay, turning towards his parents again. “Here’s a few more reasons, then. They destroy everything, they’re to be trained and vaccinated, they’ll shed all over the house! Not to mention all the vet visits and possible surgeries--having a pet is expensive, you know!” 

“Those would be _our_ arguments, kiddo,” says Matt, slightly amused. 

“And I know them by heart because I _begged_ you for a pet when I was six!” complains Clay. 

“I’d think you’re wiser and more responsible than when you were in first grade,” says Lainie, smiling at seeing the puppy so excited and delighted in Jessica’s arms.

“Seriously? You’re calling two teenage boys responsible? Don’t you remember we both got into a fight not too long ago?” 

“Come on, Clay, man,” says Justin, presenting him the puppy again. “How can you be allergic to _this?”_

All arguments forgotten now, Clay raises a hand to scratch the puppy’s head. He woofs in response, wiggling in Justin’s arms and struggling to break free. Totally a bribe, scowls Clay, forced to take the animal now. All around him, it seems the decision’s been made already. With a roll of eyes, Clay kneels to lay the puppy on the floor and the animal goes straight to bite and drool over his trainers. 

“We’ll let you be now,” says Lainie, squeezing Justin’s arm. “Glad to see you made it back home.” 

“Sorry I worried you.” 

“Don’t sweat it. Just remember phones exist for a reason,” says Matt. 

“Just dry off, honey,” Lainie recommends, sweet voice. “You shouldn’t wear those wet clothes for long.” 

“Will do.” 

As they leave, Clay doesn’t stand from the floor, his eyes glued on the small puppy having a field day with his shoelaces. Jessica kneels by his side, enthralled by any and all the little actions that the puppy does. 

“Unbelievable,” scowls Clay under his breath, seeing he’s totally lost the fight against his parents, too. The puppy rumbles in delight and Clay confesses he’s head over heels already. He then addresses his next words to Justin. “This adorable puppy is going to grow and then won’t be so cute anymore.” 

“Stop whining, Jensen. Ender’s part of the family already.” 

“Ender?” ask Jessica and Clay at the same time. 

Justin shrugs, non-committing, a way of dismissing Jess’s question while sparing Clay in the meantime. Because the name does come from one of the books Clay lent him a while back and they spent way too much time discussing. 

“Name's negotiable.” 

“Better be. It’s _she_ , not he,” Clay points out. Justin does a double-take, shocked for a second. He then shrugs and waves his hand, accepting Clay giving suggestions for her name. 

He then stands and meets Jessica, who kisses him on the lips and just chuckles softly. 

“Yeah, you need that change of clothes now,” she laughs, running a hand through Justin’s soaked hair, making water drip everywhere in a five-feet radius. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles in response, grabbing a towel from the cupboard. 

“That won’t be enough, surely,” chuckles Jess. 

She takes Justin’s hand and leads him to the bathroom. Clay sees her intentions by the corner of the eye and speaks up before they get in there for as many minutes. 

“Hey, Justin?” His brother turns around, hands clasped with Jessica’s. “You taking your phone and actually answering your calls and text messages wasn’t a suggestion. You need to let us in, man.” 

“Sure,” nods Justin, a bit baffled by the succinct and serious tone from Clay. “Sorry.” 

He and Jessica finally step into the bathroom, after taking a clean set of clothes, and lock the door behind them. Jessica helps Justin out of his soaked clothes, helps him into the dry jeans and T-shirt. She then coaxes him to sit on the toilet and proceeds to dry his hair off properly with the hairdresser, caressing his hair and scalp tenderly while doing so, giving him an affectionate massage as well. She felt like doing it, letting Justin rest his head against her stomach when she’s finished her work. She cups his chin and leans to give him a kiss. 

“You were really worried?” asks Justin then, for he could taste the concern and desperation in Jessica’s kiss and lips. 

“Just check your messages if you do not believe us. You’d been gone for almost an hour without saying anything to anyone,” Jessica explains. “We agreed that all that shit was behind us, Justin. You cannot disappear like that again. Did you ever think we wouldn’t worry?” 

To be honest, Justin really thought no one would notice his tardiness. Not too long ago, he had no schedules whatsoever, no one to worry about him sleeping at home or anywhere else, no one to worry if he had had anything to eat throughout the day. He’s still slowly learning that things are different now. For better and for worse, he’s got a family who cares about him. Disappearing from home will be a cause of worry. 

Their lips meet again with apologetic anxiety as Justin stands. For the next few minutes, they make good use of the privacy of a locked door and by the time they come out of the bathroom, they’re both sporting broad smiles on their faces. They’re no longer cold at all, either. 

They embrace themselves, ready to hear all of Clay’s jokes and teasing them about the time they spent in there, but he probably didn’t even notice how long they took. He’s still playing with Ender, they’ve moved on to his bed. He has a small anti-stress ball on his hands and teasing Ender trying to get the ball. The puppy barks in excitement and manages to steal it, wiggling her tail, but then Clay takes the ball back and the game begins all over again. 

“See, you love him, already,” chuckles Justin, leaning against the countertop. 

“Shut up,” scowls Clay. He cannot possibly deny he’s been busted, but he still tries to pretend, though, out of embarrassment. Dropping the ball to the floor, Ender jumps from the bed after it, but Clay just goes to the countertop. 

Justin clears his throat then, as his brother passes by him. “Sorry again, man. I really didn’t realize what time it was.” 

“It’s okay, you’re here, now,” sighs Clay, approving with a nod of his head Justin’s dry hair and clothes. “Just take your girlfriend on the date you promised her.” 

“I don’t think it calls to be outside right now,” Jessica points out, looking outside at the pouring rain showing no signs of stopping. “Not after you catch a cold.” 

“Well, maybe we can crash at your place,” suggests Justin, reaching his hand for Jess to grab it. He won’t say the words aloud and put Clay on the spot, but he knows Clay wanted the afternoon to himself to write and caught up with his fanfictions. After the fright he’s given them all, he might as well grant him his wishes and get Jess and himself out of the way for the remainder of the afternoon. 

At Clay raising his head out in concern, Justin adds, “We’ll take the car, don’t worry. And I’ll be back home in time for dinner.” 

“Let’s go,” agrees Jessica, for her parents aren’t due back home till the weekend. 

Sitting on the stool, his mind drifting off to his works, Clay turns on his computer while Justin grabs a dry jacket and Jessica takes that hoodie again. He opens the folder with Word and his on-going stories, but returns to the present when Ender barks at his feet. She looks at him with a crooked head, tongue out, her tail wiggling, and hitting the floor insistently. 

Clay sighs and gives up, taking Ender and letting her on his lap. He scowls when Justin smiles like a proud parent at him across the room. 

“Are you going to stand there much longer?” 

“We’re going,” promises Justin hastily, taking his car keys and an umbrella. Making sure Jessica’s hoodie is properly wrapped on, he opens the door, a gust of wind rushing into the room. He then covers Jessica’s head with the umbrella and waves goodbye at Clay, who’s trying to type with one hand and scratch Ender’s ears with the other. 

“Buy dog food while you’re out!!” commands Clay just before they slam the door shut. “And a leash and a dog bowl would be useful, too!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I meant to finish this work before s4 came out, but I've just heard the release date and I'm preeeeetty sure I won't make it in time. . . Oh well, some things will have to remain fanon, I suppose? I dread they're going to mess up so many things. . . 
> 
> Be as it may, I'll try to edit and publish the remaining chapters of this work _before_ June 5th, not sure if I'll succeed, but hope you like the updates nonetheless !! :3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As shown in episode 9 of the 3rd season, Justin depends on Bryce for the Oxycodone prescription. The lying and hiding things take a toll on Justin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: substance abuse, strong language.

Justin turns around the corner and sees out there the Blue Spot Liquor Store. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, watching a man in his forties leave the store with a paper bag under his arm, and wondering if he’ll be strong enough to cross the street. _Whose freaking idea was this?_ he scowls, biting his lower lip. 

He cannot count how many afternoons he spent out here with Bryce and the gang, getting drunk, getting wasted. Doing everything that Bryce did and told him to do because he thought it was cool. 

On that corner, once upon a time, he was the asshole who pressured Clay into drinking--he now shivers, wondering what Matt and Lainie’s reaction was that night. It was a school day, and Jensen was forced to ride his bike home after getting drunk on a 40. Yeah, those were the times. 

As he steps closer to the store, dry mouth, his mind inevitably goes there. He can almost remember the exact words, the pauses, the intonation, the accusation that Hannah Baker recorded for them just before she killed herself. 

_You’ve heard of the butterfly effect, right? That if a butterfly flaps its wings at just the right time in just the right place, it can cause a hurricane thousands of miles away._

Not a single person who was on the tapes will ever forget them, Justin sighs as he steps into the store. They’ll carry the weight of their high school experiences, and the idiotic things they did, and the chain of events that led to a girl taking her own life, until they all die of old age. 

Still, however nightmarish coming back here is, this was a somewhat appropriate rendezvous spot. Close enough to get here on foot and not be forced to make up an excuse to take the car, but far enough from home that he will not meet any neighbors, or worse, classmates. 

He buys a couple of sodas, the hot day outside and the walk under the sun being only two reasons for his nervousness and dry mouth. Resting against the wall, he opens and drinks half the contents of the first can before he breathes again. 

_Little did I know you would be my hurricane. Maybe you think I’m being silly. I’m just some stupid girl who gets all worked up over a little thing. But little things matter._

Her voice and the memories come back and he cannot push them away. Overwhelmed, real-life moments that he shared with Hannah mix up with the nightmares he had after hearing the tapes, with the trial and testifying in Court. The rumors that went around the school haunt his mind, confusing reality with gossip, Hannah’s accusations making it all worse, reminding everyone of what they did wrong. 

_You want evidence, Alex?_

_The dream starts with me at the top of the rocket, holding on to the steering wheel. It's still a playground rocket, but, every time I turn the wheel to the left or the right, the trees lift up, like they’re taking flight. And I'm scared, because I don’t know how to fly. But you’re there at the bottom of the slide, to catch me. when I fall._

_And stick around Justin, I’m not through with you yet._

_And I finally understood how everything happened. I decided that no one would ever hurt me again…_

To his right, a car honk startles him. But it’s only Bryce, the subject of that last tape, the last piece of the puzzle, who set everything in motion. Being fashionably late to any meeting, per usual. At the very least he took one of his less conspicuous and exuberant cars, so with any luck, no one will recognize them together out here. 

“Hey, Justy,” he greets, stepping down of the car. “Drinking alone?” he asks, tapping a rhythm on the car’s hood. 

Justin throws at him the other can he bought, which Bryce grabs with his left hand. But Justin stays where he stands, ten feet apart, still reluctant and uncertain. 

“Soda?” Bryce says with a crooked smile. 

“Yeah. Trying to quit,” shrugs Justin. 

“Smart choice,” approves Bryce. 

He opens the can and takes a sip, appreciating nonetheless the cold beverage. He then waves at Justin to get into the car and climbs back in, behind the wheel. 

Justin doesn’t move from his spot against the wall just yet. He takes another sip of his soda, looking around. Cars pass by and customers come in and out of the store, but no one pays him or Bryce any attention whatsoever. For them, it’s only another hot day of summer and he’s just a random teenage citizen out for a walk. Bryce waits in the car for him to make up his mind. 

In the end, however, Justin goes meet him. Of course, he does. He wasn’t fooling anyone. If he asked for this meeting is because he needed to see Bryce--or, more accurately, needed the fix Bryce can provide for him. 

As soon as he shuts the door and takes off his sunglasses, Bryce gives him a pills bottle. He’s not holding out on those to have Justin feed off the palm of his hand, but still, it feels wrong on so many levels as he hides the Oxy in his jeans pocket right away. 

He could leave right now and Bryce wouldn’t stop him, but for some reason, he stays in the car, finishing his drink. He didn’t thank Bryce for the Oxy; and Bryce, in return, doesn’t ask how he’s coping with his addiction, nor points out that Justin should seek professional help. He just rolls down his window, resting his arm outside. They both know Justin needed the fix. He’d tried to hold on as much as he could before calling Bryce, but it only got much worse. 

“Have you had any problems with Seth?” Bryce asks. 

“None,” says Justin, putting his sunglasses back on. 

“And. . . How’s it been with he Jensens?”

“It’s. . . It's great,” confesses Justin, feeling a bit weird telling Bryce about them--when, once upon a time, he could tell Bryce everything and anything. “They’re great. They really care about me. It’s nice. And Clay, he’s awesome, too.”

“You need to get him laid. He’s still so uptight,” chuckles Bryce, which just sets off something within Justin. 

“Clay believes in me,” he defends his brother with a vehemence that surprises Bryce. But he couldn’t allow Bryce to judge Clay or drag his name in the mud, especially when he’s not here at the moment to defend himself. “He’s loyal and trustworthy and smart and funnier than you’d think. He’s the kind of person who'll do anything for you, no matter the cost, no questions asked. 

“I just didn’t want to get him mixed up with this shit,” he adds after a second, the pills burning his skin with the obvious lie he can’t trust Clay with. 

“Alright, sorry I said anything,” says Bryce. 

They fall silent then. Upfront, the store keeps running, as usual, completely unaware of what transpired in there a few months back. Turning a blind eye to blatant minors buying liquor off the store and getting drunk and messing up their lives. 

_You want storm clouds and thunder? You put a target on my…well, it wasn’t just my ass. You made it open season on Hannah Baker._

Unable to control his thoughts around here anymore, Justin’s got one hand in the door handle when Bryce speaks up, hitting the wheel. 

“Fuck, man, I--” 

“Don’t,” Justin interjects, opening the door. He’s heard that tone before and he’s not going to stay any longer to hear Bryce’s remorse and apologies. “Don’t say it. Just let me be, man.” 

“Hey, Justy!” Bryce yells at his back, his head popping out from the window. 

He turns around one last time, really trying to control his voice. “Look, man, deep down, I wish you no harm. I really do. But you’ve got to understand, things cannot and will not return to the way they were. It’s just not possible.” 

“And that’s not what I’m asking,” insists Bryce, turning the car engine on. 

Justin, who was trying to get away, stops walking and steps to one side--the street is pretty narrow and they should avoid making any scenes in the middle of the afternoon. Bryce stops the car in front of him, an apologetic look on his eyes. 

“Fuck, man, forget I said anything. Forget it all. Can I give you a ride?”

“I’ll let you guess the answer,” scowls Justin, setting off again. Luckily, Bryce doesn’t insist anymore and Justin, without looking back, just raises an arm and waves goodbye. After a few seconds, he hears the car turning around and headed in the opposite direction. 

_Turn the tape over for more. . ._

The walk back home gives him time to breathe and simmer down, as it so happens every time he meets Bryce. There’s some history between them they cannot forget nor forgive and that’s the bottom line. 

He does feel better by the time he reaches home. If he’d met any acquaintances, even Jess, at the moment, he’s sure he would have snapped at them, and that wouldn’' really fly with Clay and his folks. Especially taking into accound that Lainie’s the first one to greet him back, as she works on the backyard and on the flower beds. It’s almost like staring at a rainbow, with such a variety of colors, crashing painfully against his mood and state of mind. 

“Those look nice,” Justin says, his smile barely faked. 

“Thanks, Justin,” she says, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Zach got here a few minutes ago.” 

“Shit, it’s that late?” scowls Justin, checking the time on his phone. He took too long with his walk, apparently. “I better go.” 

“Sure,” nods Lainie. 

In the outer house, it doesn’t seem like Zach and Clay missed him too much. He’s only a few minutes late, after all, and they’re too enthralled by the videogame they're playing to notice his arrival until he clears his throat behind the couch, making them jump. 

“Yo, Jensen,” Zach greets him after stopping the game for a second. 

“Hello, you two shitheads. Couldn’t wait for me?”

“Time is money, you know,” Clay shrugs. 

“Right,” nods Justin, shaking his head. “And, man, not a Jensen just yet,” he reminds Zach, although it pains him to say the words. He’s dying to be an official member of the family, although, to all intents and purposes, he already is, but he hasn’t had the honor of changing his last name just yet. 

“Okay, almost Jensen. You come here and tell me how to beat your future little brother. He’s humiliating me here.” 

“Well, let me have this,” says Clay, a proud smile on his face. “You beat me at genes, sports, girls--”

“But not grades,” adds Justin, patting Clay’s shoulder. 

“And you’d certainly beat me shitless in a fight.” 

“Life is unfair that way,” grants Zach, crooking his head. He stretches on the couch, as if saying he’s not going to apologize for the gifts he’s been bestowed, getting comfortable as it gets. 

“At least you could admit I won you fair and square at Fortnite.” 

“Sure, whatever,” scowls Zach. “So, almost-Jensen, come help me beat your little brother.” 

“In a minute. I’ve got to take a piss,” says Justin. He cannot play for hours on end comfortable carrying in his pocket the bottle of pills, so he hides it in the bathroom cupboard, under the clean towels. 

_That smile. That damn smile. . ._

After taking a piss, he thoroughly cleanses his face and neck with cold water. Letting the faucet run, he closes his eyes, focusing on today, on here, on a hot day, the water dripping from his face, the arguing from Zach and Clay outside, the videogame’s volume way too loud. Slowly, Hannah’s voice disappears. How he wishes they could all--Clay first and foremost--leave those tapes behind. They’ll have to find another meeting place with Bryce next time, that’s for sure. 

“Hey, bring some snacks, will you?” asks Clay when Justin comes out of the bathroom, for he showed no inclination of standing from the couch. 

Justin takes a bag of pretzels from the kitchen and three sodas from the fridge and finally finds a seat between Zach and Clay, putting a stop to all the banter and arguing between the two. They pause the game and share out the snacks, albeit Clay freezes for a second, missing something. 

“Where are the coasters?” 

“You can get them yourself,” scowls Justin, stealing Clay’s remote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said in the previous chapter, I'm trying to update the work before the release of season 4. . . So here's chapter 9 !


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin gets to meet Lainie's side of the family. He soon finds out he had no reason to worry -- quite the opposite, in fact !

“I think we’ve got everything we need,” says Matt, sealing the mini-fridge. Lainie, however, keeps on preparing sandwich after sandiwch as if she were planning to feed an entire starving regiment. “I mean, it’s only lunch, Lainie, we’re not spending the weekend away.”

“Have you forgotten how much our kids eat on a daily basis, Matt?” she asks. 

He ponders for a second and then waves at her to go ahead and prepare as many sandwiches as she wants to. Instead of just staring at her working, Matt goes around the countertop and gives her a hand by laying out a few more slices of cheese and cold turkey. 

They’re still wrapping the last few sandwiches when Clay and Justin return from the outer house, carrying a backpack. 

“Do you need help?” asks Justin. He’s been awfully solicitous and helpful the past couple of days, since the date was settled, as if trying not to think about the picnic too much by keeping himself busy. 

“You can take this to the car,” says Matt, pointing at the mini-fridge. He takes the keys from his pocket and throws them at Justin, who catches them easily. 

Clay and Justin carry outside the mini-fridge and their backpack and then stand by the car, under the hot, bright sun. The picnic had to be canceled twice, one because of the back cramps Amy suffered, the other because of the storm last week, and postponing the meeting did not do any favors with Justin's nervousness. The jingle of the keys in his hands and him humming song after song while kicking every rock on the sidewalk does manage to get on Clay’s nerves, too. 

Patting the car’s roof, he attracts Justin’s attention and he stops his whistling, spinning around to face Clay. 

“Dude, I understand you’re nervous, but you’ve got no reason to be. You're going to have a good time, I promise you,” says Clay again, grabbing Justin's hand to take the keys back. “If you don’t, I'm doing the laundry for two whole weeks.” 

“For real?” chuckles Justin--out of the house chores, he hates washing the dishes, and Clay usually puts up a fight regarding laundry. The fact that he should even be risking the laundry proves how certain Clay is about today and the meeting of Lainie’s sister and her kids. 

Before Clay can give him an answer, Matt and Lainie come out of the house, announcing that they’re all set and they can get going now. Matt drives, so Lainie can spend the trip telling Justin all about Will and Alicia--apparently, in spite of having talked about Clay’s cousins for weeks on end, there’re still things to learn about them. In the back seats, Clay keeps holding Justin’s hand, in a silent promise that it’s going to be alright. 

At some point, whether they’re ready or not, they reach the park. Justin soon realizes he truly had no reason to worry--no reason to take one of those damned pills to calm his nerves, either. As soon as Josh and Alicia see Clay, they run to meet him and hug him, and when he introduces Justin, the toddlers just hug him too, hanging from his arms. 

“Come play with us!” they demand. 

“Sure, in a minute. Let me greet your Mom first,” says Justin, looking around for the woman in question. 

Amy’s already waiting for them at the table she could book, struggling to stand, but smiling warmly at him nonetheless. Justin can barely attempt to stop her from going out of her way and pushing her body too much in her pregnant state before Amy pulls him in into a huge bear hug. 

“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you!!” she squeals in delight. “Clay and Lainie have been telling so much about you. Come on, sit down over here. Let me _finally_ fulfill my role as the aunt who will tell you all the embarrassing stories of Clay from when he was a kid.”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” chuckles Justin, already thrilled by the conversation and the company, looking sideways at Clay. “I’ve only known him at school, where he’s always been one of the A-students, squeaky clean, responsible, and quiet ones.” 

“Well, I can promise you, he wasn’t always like that,” Amy winks at him across the table. 

“Do tell,” begs Justin. 

“Great,” scowls Clay. “I’m going to go and play with Bill and Alicia.” 

“Yes! Let’s play hide and seek!” the kids chime, already trying to drag Clay out of his seat. 

“Hold on, don’t you want to see this?” Amy bribes Clay back to the table with the so-promised picture. Her latest ultrasound. 

“That’s our baby brother!” chimes Josh, popping from Justin’s right. 

“We’re going to meet him in two months!” adds Alicia. 

“I. . . I see,” says Clay, staring intently at the small black-and-white and low-definition picture of a baby boy. “Actually, I don’t.” 

“Dude, this isn’t the picture of a black hole,” says Justin. “That’s. . . The head, right?” 

“Other way around,” chuckles Lainie, taking the picture and handing it back right. “That’s the head.” 

“Oh,” say Justin and Clay, both of them equally deadpanned. 

From then on, Justin doesn’t need to worry about what to say or what to do. The kids keep him distracted alright by playing hide and seek, football, amongst others, and he does have a great time with them. By lunchtime, he does feel silly for being so worked up and worried the past few days, ever since Alicia suggested they met. They eat their sandwiches and ice-creams, drink their sodas, and laugh out loud upon all the embarrassing anecdotes and stories that come up. 

On the other hand, Justin doesn’t understand why Clay and his folks were so worried in turn. They apologized for organizing an ordinary and mundane meeting such as a family picnic, and Justin had to reassure them it was completely fine with him. After all, he never had family picnics before, may they be or not be so common during summer hols. Sure, he had many days out with Jessica, Bryce, and the gang, but nothing else. So he was up? to do whatever they suggested, really. 

“Higher! Higher!” Alicia demands him time and time again on the swings. Justin’s trying to be careful, lest any of the kids get injured on his watch the first time he meets them, but by his side, Clay seems willing to throw Josh over to the moon and back. 

She then demands Justin take her to the slide, and he obliges, of course. Clay and Josh join them, as well. 

“I’m starting to feel dethroned from the fun, cool uncle position,” scowls Clay, slightly jealous alright, as the kids keep demanding more and more of Justin’s help and attention, because he gives it to them, wholeheartedly. 

“ _Seriously?_ Clay Jensen, fun and cool?” chuckles Justin. 

“Being the only uncle who could spoil them rotten,” Clay mends with a dramatic roll of eyes. 

“Oh, don’t be jealous, man,” chuckles Justin, helping Will, then Alishia, onto the monkey bars. “You’ll be the smart uncle who’ll help them with their homework and get into Harvard or MIT. Whereas I will be the cool uncle who will get them fake ID, dating advice, and warn them about drugs.” 

“I suppose I can live with that,” Clay shrugs after a second, jumping in after Justin. 

“Yeah, I thought you might. Careful there, I’m catching up!”Justin warns William and Alicia, as he’s gaining ground on his race with the toddlers. 

A little while later, they return to their parents’ table, hot, sweaty, thirsty, and exhausted. One thing that will solve some of those problems is an ice-cream, which Bill and Alicia hurry to ask their mother for. 

“Sure, honey,” says Amy, taking her mini-fridge from under the table. “Would you like one too, Clay, Justin?”

“Absolutely,” nods the latter, taking a step forward. 

“Alicia, honey, you take the one with hazelnuts,” instructs Amy, handing her daughter the aforementioned ice-cream, whereas she delivers the vanilla-flavored one to an astonished Justin. “What? You _were_ allergic to hazelnuts, weren’t you?”

“I. . . I am, yes,” Justin nods, exchanging a look with Lainie and Matt--news travel fast amongst family. “Just surprised that you know that.” 

“As I said before, they’ve told me a lot about you, but I’d love to know more,” Amy winks, pointing at him to sit down. With the ice-cream bribe, William and Alicia take seats on the bench as well, appreciating the shades of the trees. 

Seeing the panicked look on his face, Clay drops the bottle of water he was drinking from and gives him a reassuring nod--telling him to relax and not flee. Justin knew this was coming and had, as a matter of fact, come with prepared answers exactly for this occasion. He wouldn’t want to embarrass Clay or his folks, put a target on Jessica or Bryce again, nor shock Amy. Also, there’re some parts of his life that Justin still wishes to keep private, even with close family members. They’re not at the ‘talking about his addictions’ stage just yet. 

But, again, he needed not to worry. Amy asks him about his hobbies, favorite books and artists, favorite subjects, other allergies, and a long list of miscellaneous questions that, to her point of view, family members should know about each other. She never mentions his past life, his former family, or the time he spent in jail. She probably didn’t want to scare her children, Justin supposes, although the look that Clay throws him across the table gives him another explanation: Amy’s just not interested in embarrassing him by gossiping about his past life. 

When Alicia and William finish their ice-creams and, two minutes later, get bored with the plain conversation, the four of them leave the table. This time they choose to fly two kytes and Clay, irretrievably, starts singing _‘Let's go fly a kite’_. Neither his cousins or his brother seem to know what he’s talking about. 

“Seriously, your introduction to classic movies resumes tonight. _Mary Poppins_ is next on our list of family movie night,” Clay sighs. 

“Okay, whatever you say,” accepts Justin with a chuckle. 

Their parents conclude the picnic soon after, for Alicia and William were about ready to drop dead out of exhaustion. So are Clay and Justin, after running around behind the kids all day long, but they can benefit from the experience of many sleepless nights and cope it far better. 

They bid farewell with kisses and long hugs by the parking lot and, this time around, Justin doesn’t feel any fakeness or forced gestures from Amy or the kids. Although Bill and Alicia fall asleep the second they sit on the car, so it does not really count, but he takes with him the last words Alicia addresses him. 

“Welcome to the family, Justin. I’ll see you very soon.” 

Headed home, in the back of the car, Justin and Clay also find themselves fighting against exhaustion. Matt and Lainie fall silent too, letting them fall asleep if that's what their bodies demand, choosing to postpone any analysis and conclusion from today’s events. 

He’s already texting Jess--she’s been texting him all day long, but he couldn't find the time to get back at her--and telling her that the meeting was great. He’ll have so much to tell her next time he sees her, although he’s considering giving her a call when they get back home to explain everything. For once, he doesn’t need to feel ashamed nor feels like he needs to hide any aspects of his life out of shame. He is so proud and joyful after today, once more wondering how on Earth did he get to be so lucky. He’s done poorly to redeem himself, to start with. 

By his side, his eyelids heavy, Clay waits for Justin to put away his cell phone. “So, that thing about the two weeks laundry. . .”

“If you remember correctly, I never actually agreed to it,” Justin stops him before he gets any ideas. Clay was right in the end. 

“You sneaky, son of a--”

 _“Clay!!”_ shrieks Lainie, turning around in fright and shock. “How is Justin supposed to learn any proper manners from around here?”

“Mom, don’t make a fuss, please?” scowls Clay with a roll of eyes. 

“I do hope you don’t use such language in front of Bill and Alicia.” 

“Of course I don’t, Mom.” 

“It’s okay, Lainie. I promise you, I’ve heard much worse,” says Justin. And just so they can forget about Clay’s language that, honestly, they use on an almost daily basis, he chooses to change the subject, easing everyone's worries. “I had a really good time today. I really did.” 

“See?” nods Clay, hitting him in the arm. 

“No one likes an ‘I told you so’, Jensen,” Justin warns him, caressing the sore area. 

“If I don’t say it, can we negotiate the terms of the agreement we were talking about?” 

“You can try, but I don’t make any promises.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Published independently as _A bond stronger than blood_ , a one-shot set during ep 3x07, after Bryce is found dead, and Clay and Justin are interrogated by the police concerning the night where Clay showed up with a gun at Bryce's and threatened to kill him.

“I was his secret once. You know that. He took me out of the streets, he saved my life. He helped me behind your backs, because I had, literally, nowhere else to go.” 

“Justin,” Lainie interjects. “We’re proud of what Clay did back then, and we’re beyond exultant to have you in our family, but you must understand, now we’re talking about--” 

“I know, I know,” Justin says, barely able to meet Lainie’s or Matt’s eyes at all. “There’s so much at stake. All I’m saying is, you can trust him to do the right thing now, too.” 

Lainie sighs in exasperation at that answer, leaning back on her chair. She wishes so much they could trust Clay and Justin, but it’s beyond the trust a mother can give her child, now, and Clay’s making it very difficult for her and Matt to protect the family. Matt reaches out a hand to caress her arm in a fruitless gesture to reassure her. 

“Alright. We’re going to give you boys some space here,” he settles, warm voice. “But if anything else happens, if you need help for anything at all, you come to us, okay?” 

“Yeah,” nods Justin. “Let me talk to him.” 

He stands from his seat and leaves the kitchen before Lainie or Matt can come up with any more inquiries he couldn’t possibly give an answer to, or before he crumbles and he comes clean about everything he knows--him and Jessica, Tyler, him not being strong enough to remain clean, in spite of everything Matt and Lainie have given him. . . It could be a disaster, so he better leave before it happens. He walks out of the back door and crosses the back garden, but stops before he reaches his and Clay’s room. 

This is too much, Justin sighs, running a hand through his hair, making it all stand out in different directions. It was hard and stressful enough finding about Bryce’s disappearance and consequential death, but now that Clay is being suspected by the police, it’s just getting out of hand. 

The police having that footage of Clay, from that night at Bryce’s. . . Shit, they should have thought about it. The Bryce Justin got to know right before his death, the guy he’d become after transferring to Hillcrest, he probably would have stopped his father before handing the CCTV footage to the police. Or maybe he could have deleted all that footage before it got to the police. 

But, of course, Bryce could do neither those things, for someone killed him before he got the chance to do so. And now the police have more than enough reasons to suspect Clay, even though Justin believes they did OK with their alibies and stories. They just don’t know Clay. 

“Fuck!” Justin scowls, clasping his hands tightly, sinking his nails into his skin so hard that he’ll get bruises at the very least, maybe even scratches. His hands are shaking, his mind is going blank--he’s aching for a fix. He wishes he could just find a sweet and temporal escape from everything that’s happened since they heard about Bryce’s death. Or maybe since the homecoming game. Spring Fling. His time in the streets. Hannah’s death and tapes. Jessica and Bryce. . . There’s so much he wishes he could leave behind and forget, but Justin knows he’ll always carry it all with him, it’ll be his baggage for life. Up until now, having Clay and his folks has helped him. . . But he doesn’t know how much they can take, or how much of all this he can take. 

Right now, however, there’s someone else who needs him more. He braces himself and takes a deep breath of air before stepping into the room--which also qualifies as an apartment in itself, really. 

Justin had expected to find an upset and worried Clay, who’d maybe refuse to go to school or to talk things out at all, but what he finds is ten times worse than his fears. Clay vented out the events of this morning with everything they own in their room. He’s thrown dishes, comics, books, notebooks, pieces of clothing, and everything he came across with all over the beds and the floor--and after he was done getting that rage out of his system, he just fell on the floor, without the energy to destroy anything else, or clean up after himself. Out of air, in despair, Justin finds him sitting there, shoulders dropped, staring at nothing with an angered look on his eyes. 

“Holy shit,” Justin says, looking around. “Your side looks like my side.” 

Clay shrugs as if he didn’t care--but oh, he does care, so much, that it hurts his soul. That’s why he took it out on the room. “They talk to you about me?” 

“Yeah. I didn’t say anything,” Justin reassures him. Clay’s secrets are safe with him, just as his secrets are safe with Clay. That’s how it works between them. He knows Clay’s been the best brother he’s ever had. 

“How does it feel?” Clay asks. 

“What?” 

“Being the good kid.” 

“Dude,” scoffs Justin, shaking his head in disbelief. _How can he even think like that?_ He gets these amazing grades, doesn’t do drugs, doesn’t drink, doesn’t skip class, would do--and has done--everything for his friends, and the few things he does keep from his parents it's on his friends’ behalf. “Come on. I’m on your side.” 

“Whatever,” Clay shrugs again. 

Knowing that Clay’s just fed up with everything and that arguing will lead to nothing right now, Justin gives them both a few seconds to breathe and sits on his bed--which, for once since he moved in, is in better shape than Clay’s. Resting the elbows on his knees, he leans forward and asks the question he hasn’t had a chance to ask until now, for Matt and Lainie came to fetch them at the police station and have been berating Clay since then, until a couple of minutes ago. 

“What did the cops say to you?” 

_Oh, not again._ Not like Jess, and Hannah, and who knows how many others, begs Justin when Clay says that Ani and Bryce had sex. He’s afraid to ask, but he _needs_ to know, must know if Bryce had lied to his face even in those last months leading to his death, and somehow manages to push the words out: 

“What, like, he raped her? Or, like, they had a thing?” 

“Either, I guess.” Clay’s as clueless as the fucking police, and it only gets worse when he says he’s not sure if he can trust Ani any more. For fuck’s sake, Clay believes in everybody. He trusted Tyler could get better after being this close to starting a mass-shooting at school, and months later, it seems that he’s finally seeing the light after the tunnel. 

It’s all a fucking mess. Even in death, Bryce has messed with everything and everybody. 

The list includes this room, sighs Justin, taking a good look around. Knowing how much more worried Clay’s parents will be if they see the state of the room, he leaves the bed and kneels on the floor to collect some of the scattered papers. 

“Come on, Clay,” he says, patting Clay’s leg--to make him move his leg from some papers and to get him to help out. 

“Seriously?” he scowls, albeit he does cross his legs to allow Justin collecting those forsaken papers. “You choose now to worry about the state of our room?” 

“Dude, look. There’s messy,” says Justin, pointing at his side of the room and bed, “and then there’s fucking-hurricane-Katrina-passed-through-here mess.” 

The comparison warrants Justin getting kicked on the foot by Clay, which just makes him laugh upon Clay’s ridiculous attempt at hurting him. With that, Clay sighs deeply and reaches out a hand for Justin to help him to his feet, and he obliges right away. 

“Word of advice: if you keep this up, no one will understand your jokes,” Clay says. 

“Noted,” Justin laughs again. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me, brother.” 

“Yeah, well, don’t learn too much from me.” 

“Stop wasting time, will you?” complains Justin, handing Clay the few papers he’d grabbed, for him to sort out if there’s anything salvageable out of the wreckage. Trying to distract him from such depressing thoughts, if only by cleaning the room. 

The two of them take a good look around, preparing for the cleaning spree ahead of them. They’re already terribly late for school as it is, it won’t matter if they take the time to clean this place up. For the next few minutes, they come and go from all over the room, with brooms and boxes to throw things away if necessary. They sort out amongst books, notebooks and other school supplies, comics, pictures, dishes, and the list of things Clay took out his rage on goes on and on. 

There is, however, another reason why Justin cannot stand the sight surrounding them, and that is the outburst of rage that filled Clay a few minutes ago. Albeit he understands him, Justin’s pissed off at what’s happened too, and won’t ever let Clay find himself in a position where he needs to procure himself a gun again. 

During his cleaning spree, Clay looks ashamed at his uncalled outburst and rage that broke dishes and lamps alike, and Justin works in silence, hoping it’ll be better than making light fun of it. He doesn’t mind about Clay breaking anything and the mess he caused, not really. There’s a simple explanation why he never cares much about dirty dishes, dirty clothes or books lying around everywhere in the room--the thing is, he’d never been taught to keep a room or a house clean, and had never possessed as many things as he owns now. Clay didn’t realize any of it and his carefree lifestyle warranted at least a daily fight at the beginning, until Clay gave up and just accepted the way his roommate slash brother was going to behave around the house. 

“Hey, listen,” Justin says as he hands him one last notebook. He’s attempting to maintain a very precarious peace around the house, being the least appropriate person to do so. “What your folks said back there. . . You know they worry about you. They’re scared, Clay, that’s all. You’re lucky they care so much about you and want the best for you.” 

“They seem to forget that I’m scared shitless, too,” scowls him, taking the notebook and throwing it into his backpack with way too energy. “They’re nearly as convinced about my innocence as that policeman--” 

“Oh, that’s not true!” scowls Justin. “Fuck that man.” 

“That’s the chief of police, and he seemed pretty convinced that I--” 

“Fuck him,” insists Justin. “He’s fucking clueless. Whatever he thinks they’ve got, he’s looking into the completely wrong person. And your parents, as soon as they get the chance to think it through, will see that, too. It’s just. . . They don’t get it. Everything that’s happened, what you had with Hannah--” 

“Exactly, they _don’t_ get it. And how could they?” Clay explodes. “They heard the tapes when they came out, sure, but you and I both know there’s so much more to the story. Hannah, Bryce, Ani, Tyler. . . How am I supposed to tell them about that?” 

“You’re not,” replies Justin hastily. “There’s never going to be a time or place for you to tell them about it all, and they’re your parents, it’s in their nature to worry. But you’re supposed to tell _me_ , man. _I’ve_ got your back. I’ll help you, always, no matter what, okay?” 

Shoulders dropped, Clay lets those words sink in for a minute. 

“No matter what,” he nods in the end. That’s the agreement they reached outside the police station, before heading home. To help and protect each other out--to provide alibies if necessary, even. _No matter what._

“You know, I think your folks would appreciate if you showed your ugly face at school today,” he says, handing Clay his backpack to get his point across. 

Clay grabs holds the backpack as if it were a three-month dead, smelly cat--proving how uninterested he is in going to school. 

“What? Planning a no-show today?” demands Justin. 

“Just great,” scowls Clay, strapping his backpack over his shoulder. “Let’s go to school so three hundred kids can prove how much they _don’t_ trust me and think I killed Bryce.” 

“Come on,” complains Justin, patting his shoulder in that non-verbal gesture meant to encourage and comfort each other. “There’s one person who won’t think that for a second.” 

Clay holds Justin’s gaze for a bit, moved, and then blinks a few times to clear the tears from his eyes. Justin remains silent just to make his case with more vehemence. He knows how afraid Clay must be after being interrogated by the police and his parents, how his confidence has been shattered in a million different ways since last night. What with him spending the whole morning in police custody, everyone at school will assume Clay had something to do with Bryce’s death. Everyone, maybe. Except for Justin. He’s the one Clay can count on. 

“Thanks, man,” Clay says, rubbing his nose and sniffling quietly. “It means a lot.” 

“Anytime,” says Justin. His heart does lift up a bit after seeing Clay cracking the briefest of smiles--it’s Justin’s faith and confidence in him that restores Clay’s own self-confidence, too. 

Justin points outside, to which Clay nods, proving he’s nowhere ready to go to school just yet, but will try. Between the two, they carry the box they’ve filled with broken dishes and lamps, until they make it to the sidewalk--Clay gets his keys to open the car, whereas Justin kneels to lay the box by the dumpsters. 

Through the windows, he sees Lainie looking out for him and Clay, anxiety and uncertainty clear in her eyes as she follows each of Clay’s movements. She doesn’t even pretend or try to hide her feelings when she crosses the eye with Justin, who waves goodbye at her. Behind Clay’s back, Justin forces a smile and nods at her, knowing it could never be enough for the woman. But then, against all odds, she puts on a smile, too, and Justin feels restored. Matt, Lainie, and especially Clay, have all considered and treated him as part of the family from the first minute, and Justin’s joyous whenever he can make it up for them, even a little, just like he did now. 

With that, he climbs into the car with Clay, throwing his school bag to the back seats. Clay drives off immediately, maybe because he caught his mother staring from the living room, and Justin sinks into the seat. 

Sensing Clay’s willingness to fill the silence this morning with small talk, stupid bantering, or homework, Justin reaches out to turn on the radio. He turns it off right away, for it was set on a news channel, and unless a third world war has been declared over the course of the morning, Clay doesn’t need any more bad news today. Yeah, silence is probably better--if only it wasn’t caused because he’s got nothing to say to encourage poor Jensen. 

Clay still hasn’t said a word by the time he parks the car in front of the school, kills the engine, and takes his seatbelt off, without meaning to get out. Justin doesn’t move from his seat nor pushes him, either, tapping on the leather seat, maybe as nervous as Clay himself. He knows exactly what Clay’s thinking and feeling. He went through it all not too long ago, right after he returned to school from his five-months absence and everyone knew what he'd been up to, apart from letting Jessica get raped by Bryce. 

“How can I go in there? Everyone thinks I’m a murderer,” he demands, addressing the building a murderous look. 

It’s not easy, Justin accepts, walking through those walls while everyone’s staring at you, and talks behind your back. For a time after Justin got back, he wondered if education was truly worth it. Of course, he never really thought about dropping out again, he couldn’t do that to Clay’s folks, and asking for a transfer was out of the question, too. 

He’s been in Clay’s shoes, and knows exactly what he needs right now, what could make it all go away. Justin can’t bite his tongue before suggesting the escape Clay so desperately wants. 

“Shall we just. . . Skip or something?” 

He’d push Clay out of the driving wheel and take him away from here, wherever he wanted, if he said the word. Even to another freaking town, just for a day. Someplace where no one knew them, knew what fucked-up lives they’ve been through, or how one of the people seated in this car is suspect of murder--the person who’s done drugs exactly once and who can get drunk on a single beer, incidentally, which makes no sense at all. Then again, the police did say Clay couldn’t get out of town. . . Well, maybe they could find a café far from school where they’d meet no students, teachers, neighbors, who knew anything about them, maybe--? 

“That seems like not a good idea, right?” 

But, of course, Clay’s the most punctual and law-abiding person one could find around here. If only the police knew that. . . It almost makes Justin laugh, if the situation weren’t so fucked up to begin with. Now that skipping isn’t a possibility, all that’s left for Justin to do is offer advice on how to survive this day. Difficult as it may be, Clay will get through it, just like Justin did back then, just like Jessica, and many other students have gone back to that hellish place after whatever shit they’ve been through. 

“You know, you just got to walk back in there like. . . Like you know the truth, and just fuck everybody else. It’s the only way.” 

Clay seems to fancy the part of fucking everybody else--seems to be the recurring theme around these walls and this town lately. After two seconds, Clay grabs his schoolbag and lays it on his lap. 

“Right,” he says, taking in a very deep breath of air. 

At last, he opens his door. Justin follows his suit and jumps out of the car to grab his schoolbag and join Clay on the way to school, hoping Clay gets the message that he does count on his brother’s support: either they do this together, or they don’t do this at all. Clay was there for him when he returned, and although they didn’t have the same bond they now share, having Clay to fall back on made all the difference. He’s just returning the favor, now. 

They walk up the steps and Justin stops right before entering the building, resting a hand on Clay’s shoulder to let him catch his breath. He needs to stop walking with his head dropped and erase that murderous intent on his eyes, but Justin knows better than to give those pieces of advice, for it won’t help him at all. 

“I’ll see you later, okay?” he says--not really a question, just the confirmation that, whatever happens in there, whatever people say behind his back or right to his face, Clay can count on Justin waiting for him after class, knowing Justin doesn’t suspect his alibi after the homecoming game, and will not judge him, either. 

Clay nods, barely looking at Justin. He’s just dreading everything and everyone he’ll meet once he walks past those doors, and he’s pretty sure he’s never been less ready to go to school and meet his classmates. 

“Sure,” he says, in that same tone he's used all morning in an attempt to show that he doesn't care what happens, but that deep down he _does_ care and is scared, probably jus as much as Justin is, for the consequences. Still, this isn't the time or place to keep on arguing about it. “See you later.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We dive a little bit more into Justin's thoughts and feelings throughout season 3 !

“Thank you for choosing Monet’s today,” Justin bids farewell to the couple, using the mantra no one really uses around here. “Have a good one.” 

“Likewise,” says the woman. 

The man leaves a one-dollar tip on the table and Justin takes it, before proceeding to clean the table. His right hand still hurts a bit, the bruises still a nauseating blue color on his knuckles, but he’s survived much worse injuries than that one. 

A car honks outside, startling Justin. It’s Matt, who apparently has left College early, just in time to pick him up and spare him the bus ride. Justin raises a hand in the universal sign of ‘five minutes’ and Matt waves at him that it’s okay. 

Carrying the coffee mugs to the counter, Justin looks over his shoulder. Nick has already gotten here and is serving coffees. 

“Hey, Alice, do you need me?” he asks. 

“It’s okay, you can leave,” she says in response across the café. 

“Great, thank you,” says Justin, too eager and hasty. He takes off his apron, leaves on the counter the cloth he has been using to clean the tables and heads to the back shop to get his jacket. 

He checks his cell phone, but today, despite the shitstorm they’re in, there hasn’t been any communication at all amongst the members of the gang--probably out of fear, now that they know the police can get their messages. They have joked it’s going to be safer and easier to exchange messages via birds like they used to do centuries ago. 

It also means that Clay didn’t do anything stupid or dumb the past twenty-four hours, so that’s good, too. It’s a nice change, given all the dumb-ass things he did immediately after being declared a person of interest. One day without having to worry about him being arrested by the police. 

Not yet, anyway, that fucking little voice reminds him. Scowling under his breath, Justin puts away his phone and goes out to the café. 

“See you tomorrow,” he bids farewell to his coworkers in general. He cannot even spare them a pity look as he leaves the café and meets Matt, who’s been waiting for him in the comfortable warmth of the car. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he welcomes him in. “How was work?” 

“The usual, I guess,” he shrugs. “Busy. Thanks for picking me up.” 

“No worries.”

All of the pleasantries said already, Matt drives off, and Justin just looks out the window, a bit uneasy. Biting his lower lip, he taps the rhythm of an untraceable song on his knees. 

_When will it all stop?_ he wonders, not for the first time. This city that’s given him so much, and also taken so much from him, flies past through the windows and a mellow late-afternoon breeze. He’s met so much happiness and sorrow in these streets. But, is complete happiness so elusive, so fucking impossible? 

Clay and the Jensens are the best thing that’s ever happened to him, period. He once told Clay that he cared about Jess more than anyone in the fucking world and, months later, things have changed, now. Impossible as it could have seemed back then, three more people now occupy that number one spot, alongside with Jess. He’d do anything for them, to keep them safe, away from harm. Only thing is, life keeps getting in the way, time, and time again. He might want to keep them far away from trouble, but trouble always seems to find a way. 

And it’s fucking exhausting. He’s aching for a fix to give him even a temporary break from it all. Clay’s suspected by the police, Bryce is dead, every day the news comes up with more suspects, more hidden truths, more uncovered lies, and at some point, no one seems innocent anymore. 

He massages his aching hand. He’s been in too many fights to count now, but the fight he got that injury from must have been the dumbest one he’s ever participated--or started, to be precise. He never should have punched that reporter who had been following Clay around. He could have been charged with assault, he could have been expelled from school, as Lainie kept reminding him that afternoon. Luckily for him, the reporter had been on school property, so Lainie and Principal Bowlen took matters into account and probably bribed the man not to press charges against Justin. 

One more thing he owes this family, as it seems. Won’t this nightmarish cycle ever stop? 

“Pretty quiet over there, kiddo,” Matt points out as he pulls up in front of the house, refraining Justin from jumping off the vehicle. 

“Yeah. Sorry. Lots in my mind, I suppose,” chuckles Justin. 

“Yeah, I suppose I do too,” confesses Matt, a shy smile on his lips. “What’s worrying you?” 

“School, mainly,” chuckles Justin, patting the schoolbag on his lap. He avoids Matt’s eye, staring at the house he can somehow call home now, for he’s lying to his surrogate father blatantly. 

“Yeah, I understand, but you’re doing everything you can, kiddo. That’s all we can ask of you, so try not to stress it out,” Matt attempts to ease his worries. 

“Okay,” Justin shrugs, barely believing a word Matt said. “I’ll try.” 

Clay and Lainie are home too, both working at the dining table. After exchanging a few pleasantries--how was work, how was school, to have a snack they’re hungry--Clay and Lainie rearrange their papers and notebooks so Matt and Justin can join in too, transforming the living room into a library for a group study session. 

Struggling with his English Lit essay, barely able to focus at all on upcoming assignments or tests, Justin looks around. The way everyone can focus on their chores and work so diligently baffles and amazes him. No wonder Clay turned out to be such an A-student, what with his parents sitting down with him to work and helping him whenever he struggled with homework--the way that Clay does now with Justin’s homework. Good parenting changes everything. 

He feels bad for lying and pretending. He’s _not_ doing everything he can. He was, at some point, of course. But this day, it’s impossible. And if he tried to speak his worries and struggles, well. . . He’d be risking sending half a dozen kids to prison, himself and Clay included. No, it’s best to keep them in the dark. Better not mention it to Clay, either, if the man is truly capable of getting any work done in spite of everything. 

They work for a couple of hours until Lainie checks the time and says they should clear the table for dinner. At that point, they all scatter: Matt goes upstairs to change, Lainie heads to the kitchen, and Justin and Clay retreat to their outer house. 

Little Val welcomes them back by the door, barking with soft and high-pitched barks. 

“Hey, you,” Justin greets her, kneeling to scratch her behind the ears. The puppy seems to be one of the only reasons he smiles, lately. “Are you ready to go out for your walk? Huh?”

“Jesus, Justin, when are you going to wash those dishes?” scowls Clay, attempting to lay his backpack on the table but finding no spare space to do so. 

“Not interested,” he replies over his shoulder. 

“Isn’t cleaning dishes exactly your job?” 

“Maybe that’s why I don't feel like doing it, man.”

“You’re impossible,” scowls Clay. “So, you’d do anything for me, or so you say--but not the dishes?” 

“Finally figured it out. Took you long enough,” Justin winks at him. 

He puts up that tilted smile that makes it nearly impossible for Clay to stay mad at his brother for long. Groaning, Clay takes Justin’s homework and drops dead on his bed, checking his work. Justin’s too busy with Val--short for Valentine--to realize what he’s doing and beg him to stop. 

“Is this the English Lit report?” asks Clay after a few minutes. 

“Does it say Social Studies on top of the page? Because then, you’re looking at the wrong essay.” 

“I hope you realize how bad this is,” Clay warns, not as sternly as Justin had feared to come from his brother. He stands from the bed and hands him back the essay, which Justin doesn’t need to look over to remember he half-assed the whole thing and wasted almost an entire hour on it. He just couldn’t form a coherent, full sentence, let alone a sensible argument. 

“Yeah, I can imagine,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

“The structure, the reasoning. . . Even the spelling, man,” Clay tries to explain, disheartened. “I don’t want to play this card, but I’ll remind you, you need to do better than that in order to make up for the months of school that you missed.”

“Yeah, I know that. Look, I’ll write it again, OK? There’s time,” says Justin. Val is suddenly interested in that piece of paper, thinking it’s for playing. Standing on her back paws, she’s trying to pry it from Justin’s hands, but he surrenders it without a fight. Yeah, Val can keep with that piece of garbage all she wants. It won’t be that hard for him to do better. “I’m just having trouble concentrating lately.”

Upon Clay’s dead silence, when he’d expected a scoff and a roll of eyes telling him that nothing should stand in the way of his studies, Justin looks up. Clay looks nowhere near teasing and he stands, meeting his brother’s eye. 

“I know. Happens to me too,” confesses Clay under his breath. 

_“You? Really?”_

“You don’t want to check my homework, man,” says Clay in response to Justin’s mockery tone. “It’s really, fucking difficult. I can promise you, you’re not alone in this one.” 

“Well, I’ll be damned. The day I’ve got something in common with Clay Jensen, school-wise,” says Justin, crossing his arms in shock. Clay had never given any indication whatsoever before. Apart from the nightmares he gets from time to time, from where Justin’s standing, it seemed that school assignments and tests came as second nature for Clay. 

Clay just shrugs, staring at Val playing with that piece of paper, it being the most interesting show he’s ever witnessed. “But, hey, there’s one thing I know: it’s going to be okay,” he says. 

“Is it, now?” scoffs Justin. 

“I don’t know what's going to happen tomorrow, if the police will arrest me, if someone else will drop dead, or who the hell knows,” says Clay in all honesty. “But, whatever happens, I _know_ that it’s all going to be okay because I have you.” 

It is now Justin’s turn to look away, moved by Clay’s words, and his certainty. For some reason--for many reasons--he cannot be as certain as Clay is, but his words did manage to comfort him a bit. Yeah, they’ve got each other, through thick and thin. Although, in this case, it should be through thin and thin. 

“Come here,” he commands, pulling Clay in for a big, bear hug. “I really, really appreciate and thank you for being there for me.” 

“Same, man.” 

Standing like that, Val prodding around them, Clay’s attention diverts to the reason of their previous argument. 

“So. . . About those dishes. . .” 

Justin laughs, breaking the hug. “What’d you prefer, the dishes or Val?” 

“I knew this was going to happen the minute you came in with that puppy,” scowls Clay, exasperated. The moment of truth and bonding already passed, he goes over to the shelves and grabs Val’s leash. “I’ll take her, if I leave it up to you, she won’t go out for a walk in three days.”

“See you later,” Justin says, collecting the dishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per Val's name, it comes from Valentine Wiggins, from _Ender's Game_ ! I'm just so sure that Clay's a fan of Orson Scott's work. . .


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin freaks out after receiving a call from the hospital regarding Clay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: strong language. Substance abuse.

The light finally turns to green. . . But the driver upfront doesn’t seem to realize so. 

“Fucking hell,” scowls Justin. _“Get a move on!”_

He rests a hand on the honker and doesn’t move it away until the car drives off, giving Justin plenty of space to do a difficult maneuver and advance him. He also gives the driver the finger as he flies past him. 

Ten minutes ago, he was peacefully at Jessica’s. He can still feel her lips, taste the faint, sweet strawberry-like taste of her lipstick. Feel her react to his every kiss and caress, feel her touch all over his body. And now, he’s flying past across the city, out of his mind, his phone buzzing with text messages, seriously considering giving their parents a call despite all of Clay’s reassurances. 

At long last, Justin makes it to the hospital and parks at the first free spot he sees. He doesn’t remember to lock the car before he dashes through the parking lot. He’s certain he went over the speed limit a few times, maybe even ran a few red lights, and if he were to check, he would probably find out he put on unmatched socks or shoes. 

It doesn’t really matter. After he got Clay’s phone call asking to pick him up from the hospital, Justin couldn’t focus on anything. Last he knew, Clay was still at Liberty, tutoring a freshman or another. How the hell did he end up injured? What the hell did Clumsy Clay do to deserve a trip to the hospital? 

“Clay Jensen,” he says at the receptionist. “Where is he?” 

The woman checks the records and then points over to a corridor towards the emergency boxes--number 5. Justin delivers a hasty thank you before he heads over there, out of breath. 

_“Jensen!”_ he yells, drawing the curtains back. 

His frenzied and worried state does not match the patient lying on the bed. Clay, unfathomable to the three consecutive heart attacks Justin suffered on the way here, flashes a crooked smile and raises his arms to greet him in. He then frowns and checks the clock on the wall. 

“Dude, it took you like five minutes to get here. Did you teleport or something?” 

“You said to come to pick you up at the hospital, what was I supposed to do? Go to the movies or something? What happened to you?” Justin says as an explanation, still breathing heavily. He’s starting to calm down now that he sees Clay’s only got one arm in a cast and a bandage on his forehead, nothing else. But the hoodie he was wearing, hanging from the chair, is stained with blood. 

“I also remember telling you I was fine,” sighs Clay. He might have said that sentence a dozen times throughout their conversation, but still, Justin hasn’t yet recovered. 

“What the hell happened?” he insists. 

“Are you a family member?” someone asks behind Justin’s back. 

He spins around to meet a doctor with a chart and some paperwork under her arm, uncertain for a second. There’re no documents that he could show on that regard, however, and if they need those to release Clay into the care of a family member, he’s going to have to call Lainie and Matt. Which is exactly what Clay wanted to avoid in the first place by calling him. 

“Yes, I am. He says I can take him home?” 

“Mr. Jensen has been under observation for two hours now and hasn’t shown any worrying symptoms, so we’re releasing him to a family member,” explains the doctor. As she goes over the tests they ran and the results, Justin looks at his brother on the bed, who avoids his eye. 

“Two hours?” Justin mouths, but Clay just shrugs. 

“He needs to stay with someone for the next few hours. If he shows symptoms like headaches, dizziness, fatigue, insomnia, ringing in the ears, or blurry vision, bring him back immediately. But he should be just fine.” 

“Will do,” agrees Justin, dizzy himself by all the information. 

The doctor walks up to Clay in order to hand him the paperwork. 

“You need to sign these. And take this for the pain,” she adds, taking a bottle of pills from her pocket. “Come back for a check-up if the pain doesn’t subside in a few days.” 

“Will do. Thank you,” says Clay. 

“Thank you, doctor,” Justin repeats as the woman bids farewell and walks out of the curtains. 

At that moment, Justin glares at Clay, who’s nonchalantly doing a quick reading of the release papers.

“Are you planning on filling me in any time soon?” 

“Justin, man, take a breath. I’m fine,” he insists. 

“What the hell happened?” he demands again. 

“I. . . I fell. Through a flight of stairs,” confesses Clay in a whisper, a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t pass out, but since I hit my head, and there was blood, the teachers called an ambulance either way. They made too big a fuss, really.” 

“No, they made the exact kind of fuss,” replies Justin succinctly. “A concussion is serious business, Jensen.” 

“They just told you I _don’t_ have a concussion.” 

“Whatever,” scowls Justin, running a hand through his hair. “You really are the clumsiest fucking person I know.” 

“That’s me, alright,” he sighs.

In order not to fight with Justin anymore, Clay takes the paperwork and a pen and starts signing them where he’s supposed to. Justin gives him all of one minute of peace and quiet, but he just cannot stop himself. He’s been a total mess since he got the call and the fact that Clay’s alright hasn’t managed to simmer him down. He cannot believe he was just making out and having fun with Jess, unaware that Clay was here at the hospital all alone while they were running all those forsaken tests. 

_“Two hours?”_ he shrieks then, startling Clay and making him mess up that last signature. “You really couldn’t have called me earlier? You’ve been in here for two fucking hours?” 

“You’re right, I should have called you,” accepts Clay, but it doesn’t sound like an apology exactly. “So we’d both be bored out of our minds, and to have you all freaked out and scared and yelling at doctors and nurses, just like you’re doing right now?” 

Realizing he was raising his voice a bit too much, Justin sighs and drops on the visitor's chair. He gives Clay a few minutes to sign all the paperwork and then goes deliver it at the reception. By the time he returns, Clay’s stubborn ass is trying to get out of bed and reach for his clothes, as much as all those movements seem to hurt him. 

“Will you stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you?” scowls Justin, gently pushing back on the bed, and Clay surrenders with a deep sigh--he truly is in pain, the damn fool. 

“I’m sure you caught that--stubbornness runs in the family,” he says. 

“Yeah, well, tell me something I _don’t_ know,” Justin scoffs. 

“Here it is: the Spanish word for--” 

“Shut the fuck up,” commands Justin, and given how pissed off he sounds, Clay obliges. 

Justin then moves on to grab Clay’s clothes from the chair. Someone took the time to neatly fold the jeans and T-shirt, and that’s why it’s not until Justin takes the T-shirt and unfolds it, that he sees the stains of blood. He cannot help but wince, and Clay looks appropriately ashamed and put out. 

“If you’d told me what happened, I would have brought you a clean set of clothes.” 

“Too late now,” replies Clay, sitting up straight so Justin can give him a hand to put on the shirt, despite his cast. At the very least, it’s his left arm, so he’ll still be able to write his essays, his exams, and his fanfiction. 

“Here you go, Mr. Jensen,” says an orderly, pushing a wheelchair into the box. He insists before Clay tries to argue he does not need it, “It’s hospital policy, Mr. Jensen. I have to take you to the car.” 

“I can do that,” standing beside the orderly to take charge of the wheelchair. After a two-second silent confrontation, the orderly nods, addresses Clay a warm smile, and leaves the box. But Justin knew the strongest fight would be with Clay himself. 

His brother’s standing in the middle of the box, stubbornly refusing to use the wheelchair in spite of the obvious pain he’s in. 

“I’ve got two functioning legs.” 

“You say that, but you still manage to trip and fall a flight of stairs,” replies Justin almost immediately. With gentle movements, as not to injure him anymore, he coaxes Clay to sit in the wheelchair. 

It amazes Justin how Clay can be such a sourpuss with him on every aspect of today’s accident, but at the same time, he does smile and wave goodbye at every nurse and doctor they walk past. By the time they reach the parking lot, however, he’s got a cranky face and a very foul mood. 

“Afraid you’re not going to be able to hide this from our folks, man,” Justin points out then, trying to make a joke about the bloody clothes and Clay’s bandages and cast, but he only gets a scowl from his brother. 

“Your job is to get me home before them so I can change,” he informs him. So that’s the only reason why Clay ended up calling--realized it was the fastest way to get home. 

“Hold on,” begs Justin, patting his right shoulder to keep him in the wheelchair as he unlocks the car, throwing Clay’s schoolbag onto the back seats. 

Deaf to Clay’s complaints, he helps him into the vehicle and then goes back to the hospital to return the wheelchair. He follows Clay’s example and thanks profusely the nurses and the orderlies for all their work and their help. On his way back, he takes out his cellphone and sends a few text messages. 

He’s not yet done answering all the freaked-out questions and offers to help by the time he makes it back to the car—he’s still got his eyes glued on the screen, his thumbs texting as fast as they can, when he sits down at the driver’s seat. 

“Are we. . . Staying here all afternoon?” asks Clay after he’s given him almost thirty seconds. 

“Just. . . Give me a sec. I’m texting Jess and the other guys.” 

“You told her? And everyone else too?” Shrieks Clay, reaching for his backpack to get his cellphone out. But then he finds out he’s barely got a few messages and that Justin hasn’t been replying to the group chat. 

“I was with her when you called me,” he explains, without raising his head from the device yet. “She texted the group--on a private chat--so everyone else knew.” 

“Great,” scowls Clay, dropping his cellphone. “I didn’t want to tell my folks and now the whole shool’s going to know about it.” 

“Dude, that’s kind of a given, don’t you think? You tripped, fell at school, and were taken to the hospital by ambulance. Everyone will know by tomorrow morning.” 

“Shut up,” scowls Clay. 

Before Justin starts typing--not that he’s going to forget texting Jessica at some point, Clay knows that--Clay throws something at his lap. It’s the pills he’s supposed to take for the pain. Justin hadn’t given it any thought, but now that he reads the prescription, he realizes it’s Oxycodone. 

Dry mouth, he swallows with difficulty, his phone forgotten--there is no way he can tell Jessica and everyone else about any of this. It takes every ounce of strength Justin owns not to open the bottle right there and then and take one of those little pills, that’s how bad it’s gotten. After finishing Bryce’s prescription a few days ago, Justin hasn’t taken anything, and he’s suffering the worse abstinence he’s ever known, second to the detox Clay and the gang out him through back in the day. As a matter of fact, yesterday he did contact that Michael kid at school for a quick fix when he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Dammit. Did Jensen hear about that? dreads Justin, closing his eyes, as if not seeing the drugs will prevent him from taking any of those pills. Is that what’s going on here, Clay’s ultimate motive? 

_It cannot be._

“What’s this?” he asks, his voice and strength of will weak. 

“I think we both know what it is,” Clay replies, low voice. 

Justin hands him back the pills, shivering hands, but Justin doesn’t take them back. The bottle hangs in no man’s land between them, the pills rattling inside. 

“You're an idiot,” scowls Justin. “Tell me you didn’t risk your neck just to get a prescription on this.” 

“Well, getting a concussion wasn’t exactly the plan,” shrugs Clay, “but you do need these, don’t you? You’ve finished the pills Bryce gave you. And you cannot exactly show up at the doctor with a dead man’s prescription.” 

“I can’t.”

“What’s your plan, Justin? Buying drugs from that kid at school? Are those any better than Oxy?” 

_So he does know,_ Justin sighs, hitting the steering wheel. Fucking great. He knows Clay's going to keep his secrets, till the end of time, but that doesn't solve anything. He's still an addict in need of help. And if that help isn't rehab or some shit, it must be a fix in the form of those forsaken pills Clay got for him. 

“You’re crazy,” scoffs Justin, playing with the forsaken bottle on his hands, reluctant to open it. “Don’t you need these yourself?” 

“Hey, I survived a beating by Bryce and another by Monty without taking any sort of meds at all. This? This, I can live with.” 

“So that’s your plan from now on? You’re going to crack your head open every few months?” 

“We’ll see what happens down the line. For now, you’ve got a prescription for those. If that keeps you on the wagon. . .” 

Justin looks down on the pills, the aching riling his whole system up. Fuck, this is all wrong. He came here for Clay--he’s the one who was admitted to the hospital because of a fall, however stupid an accident it was. These pills shouldn't be for him. 

_And yet. . ._

Before he reconsiders, Justin hides the pills in his trousers’ pocket. By his side, Clay nods in approval, and then rests his head against the window. Tired and aching, whatever he says. 

“So you’re clumsy, stubborn, and an idiot,” Justin summarizes, turning the key on the engine. His particular way of thanking Clay’s efforts, although he bears in mind they need to consider other possibilities coming forward. 

“Can’t come as news to you,” says Clay, eyes closed. “You still love me, though.” 

“Jury’s out,” scowls Justin.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extended scene from season 3 ep 13, Tyler's pictures presentation, with Clay, Justin, and Jessica. Always thought the scene missed something--or, you know, someONE.

“This was amazing, Ty,” Mackenzie says again, kissing him on the cheek. 

One by one, most of the gang has left Monet’s, but everyone has stopped by his table to bid him farewell and to congratulate him on the exposition. No one seemed pissed off at all or annoyed for him putting up pictures of everybody without permission this time around--on the contrary, they were all pleased and honored to be up on that wall, Tyler’s way of expressing his gratitude to all of them. 

“I’m glad we got to see some of your work at last, beyond yearbook stuff,” says Ryan. He tries to shake Tyler’s hand, but, uncertain, he ends up dropping his arm and grabbing his backpack. They all learned Tyler’s need for personal space and still respect him to this day. 

“That’s a side of me you don’t get to see every day,” says Tony, pointing at the black and white picture of him laughing at something Caleb said while driving his car back home from school. 

“People caught off guard are more genuine,” smiles Tyler. “Although I do understand some people would consider that an invasion of privacy.”

“Well, I’m going to forgive you for that one, and probably ask you for a copy. I’m sure Caleb will want that.”

“Sure,” accepts Tyler. 

“Take care, man,” Tony bids goodbye, hugging him, before he meets Caleb and leave the café together. 

Even though it’s getting pretty late and the celebration is well over, Tyler finds himself unable to stand from the table and leave, as well. He keeps staring at the wall and the pictures he took. Everyone who helped him since that fatal day at Spring Fling. Tony. Clay. Justin. Jessica. Alex. Tyler. Cyrus. Mackenzie. Ani. They’re all up there for a very special reason. He owes them all so much. He owes them having a life. 

“Hey, man,” says Justin, bringing Tyler back from his reveries. He, Clay, and Jessica, the last people from the party remaining, stand across from him. Tyler waves at them to join him and they sit with their own cups of coffee--plus a fourth one for Tyler. 

“So, when are you going to open your own photographic studio?” asks Jessica. 

“I think I’m going to graduate first,” jokes Tyler. 

The coffee mug between his hands, he’s still staring at the wall upfront, smiling proudly at his work, the progress he’s made the past few months, the friends he’s gotten out of the whole ordeal. Because of them, he’s slowly and finally regaining confidence in himself, believing that he is truly deserving of that second chance. As he said during his speech, having friends makes a big difference in anyone’s life. 

“That’s what I meant back then, you know,” he says after a minute, addressing Clay. “No posing, no faking it. Just people _au naturel_ living their lives.” 

“Yeah,” nods Clay, taking a sip of his coffee with a shy smile. “Yeah, I get what you meant, now.”

Transfixed by the pictures, also Clay, Jessica, and Justin fall silent staring at them again, turning their chairs around so they don’t snap their poor necks. The pictures are beautiful for another reason altogether, as well: somehow, Tyler managed to catch them all smiling. 

Jessica and Justin walking around the school hand in hand, Clay laughing at the Library while trying to do homework, MacKenzie laughing with her brother, the gang eating at lunch, attending one of Liberty’s football games. . . On all those pictures, they’re smiling, without fail. Despite the shit they all went through this past year, there were moments of happiness, too, and they truly need to focus on those small and most important moments, remember that there’s always a beacon of hope, doesn’t matter how dark the night gets. 

Mainly thanks to the gang that was here a few minutes ago, Tyler’s slowly managed to learn that important lesson, one that he’ll never forget again. Life is always better. 

And then there’s a camera flashing that makes Tyler look down. 

“Did you just--?” 

“Take a picture of you? Yes, I did,” says Justin, saving it on his memory. “I just figured, you need to be up there as well.”

 _“Me?”_ chuckles Tyler, putting down his coffee mug. 

“You say we helped you, but it was _you_ who struggled every day and were strong enough to get where you are now,” Clay nods, smiling at him proudly. He then takes Justin’s phone to check the picture. 

“We’re forever sorry for what you went through and wish it’d never happened,” adds Jessica, resting her hand on Tyler’s arm, “but we’re also so fucking proud of the man you've become. Of the man who made that exposition.” 

_“This_ man,” says Clay, showing Tyler Justin’s phone. 

Tyler leans to check the picture and freezes for a second--another everyday scene, black and white, a bit blurry, caught off guard, while staring at his own pictures. He looks back at them, teary eyes that he tries to hide. 

“Thank you, guys.” 

“Is it--Is it alright to show it around?” asks Clay. He wouldn’t violate Tyler’s privacy that way ever again.

“Sure. It’s alright.”

At that, Justin takes back his cellphone and doesn’t waste a single second before sending the picture amongst the gang. They should have done so earlier, when everyone was still around. They were talking about taking a group photo as well but they didn’t get around to do it. Luckily, there’s still time for it. 

“Actually, there was one more picture I wanted to put up,” says Tyler. “Can I show it to you?” 

“Of course!”

Tyler gets his purse from the floor and takes out a manila envelope. He weighs it for two seconds, biting his lower lip, nervous again before the reveal, but then he surrenders it to Clay. Jessica and Justin lean forward as he opens the envelope, intrigued. 

As soon as Clay sees the picture, something snaps within him. His heart skips a beat and he closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing, his hands shivering just a little bit, and also the picture. By his sides, Justin and Jessica hold his arms to give him the same support they extended Tyler. 

“Dude--” Justin tries to say something, but comes out empty. 

“I’m alright,” promises Clay, eyes still shut. Uncertain as to if he’s ready, or able at all, to see the picture and the people in it again, or if it’s just best for his poor nerves to give it back and forget all about it. 

“I’m sorry,” Tyler says. “I didn’t know if it was appropriate.” 

After breathing in and out deeply four times, Clay nods to prove that he’s alright and opens his eyes again. For a second, he only stares at Justin--who promises him in return that, even if the girl in the picture is no longer with them, alive, happy, as she should be, Justin is. He’s got his hand on Clay’s lower back and the other holding the picture, in case Clay does need it away from his eyesight in a moment of fright. 

Slowly, Clay looks down at it again. For the picture he’s got in his hands is one of him and Hannah, a lifetime ago, leaving Liberty High at the end of the school day. Talking about who knows what--homework, movies, their shift at the Crestmont--and smiling in the crowd of students. 

“Sorry,” Tyler apologizes again, his voice in a whisper. 

“It’s alright,” says Clay, his voice stronger, his hands shivering only slightly. “Can I. . . Keep this?” 

“Of course, yeah. I can give you all copies of those pictures,” Tyler says, waving at the photos on the wall. In the meantime, Clay takes one last look at the picture of Hannah, wishing to crave into his memory the sight of her happy, alive, before all Hell broke loose because of Bryce, and so many other shitty things. He then puts the picture back in the envelope and, in turn, lays the envelope on the side of the table. 

Just as his friends and brother, he looks back on the wall, at the band of people who’re still struggling and fighting, helping each other day after day, and who will, difficult as it may be, see the light after the dark tunnel that has Liberty High been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I said I would try to publish the remaining chapters before season 4 release, and I did my best, but I see now I'm not going to make it . . . Next chapter concerns Justin's rehab and I'm NOWHERE near finished with it ^^" Oh well, many things will have to remain fanon, I suppose ! And season 4 might just give me ideas for more chapters -- aka fix-it chapters for when they inevitably screw things up? I guess we'll have to see ! 
> 
> You all excited for the new season ?!?!?! :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some bits and pieces of Justin's rehab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everybody ! 
> 
> Sorry for the hiatus, after watching season 4 I just. . . Just needed some time from the show and the characters. I'm still not quite over whatever s4 was, and I'm DEFINITELY on denial regarding some events. 
> 
> Those include, amongst many other things I still can't wrap my head around: the way EVERYONE seemed to mistreat my poor baby Justin this season, and, of course, Justin's death, which to me makes no sense whatsoever. This baby and ray of sunshine deserved so much more that what s4 gave him. 
> 
> So, this is now a fix-it or perhaps even an AU where Justin DOESN'T DIE and he has a good life with the Jensens (I'll be updating the tags on this work). I do hope you still enjoy this fanfic that was supposed to give Justin all the love and happiness that a quiet, simple life with the Jensens was supposed to give him.
> 
> TW: strong language, substance abuse, rehab.

Matt pulls up in front of the Center and the four family members descend the car, Justin in the middle, his adoptive parents and brother rallying around him. He’s sweating and shaking out of nervousness as he climbs up the stairs, knowing, in any case, there’s no way out but through. He knows his family’s not here to judge him and that makes all the difference.

Although it's just the four of them today, the whole gang wanted to come until Clay explained in great detail how this was a family matter, although their insistence meant the world to Justin. Jessica was the hardest one to talk out of joining them, of course, which comes as no surprise to anyone. But, in the end, she settled with joining the family for dinner last night and some time alone at the outer house, provided Clay stayed in the main house watching a movie with their parents.

“Here we are,” sighs Justin--fear and uncertainty in his voice.

He’s looking all around him, surprised that most nightmares he’s had these past few days are being debunked: no monsters lurking in the corners, no dark corridors with locked doors and deranged people’s screams, unable to move because of the straitjackets, freezing his blood.

“It’s going to be okay,” Lainie assures him.

“Sure,” nods Justin, breathing deeply.

“And if it’s not, give me a call and I’ll come to pick you up,” says Clay on a whisper that only Justin can hear. That does make Justin laugh, at long last: Clay’s been working on a break-out plan for days, now. Ever since Justin said he needed to go to rehab. Clay drops Justin’s bag, which he was carrying in his stead to take that one weight off Justin’s shoulders today, and pulls him into a big bear hug.

“We’re so proud of you, man,” he whispers against his ear. Justin leans on his embrace, hiding his blushing and crying face on Clay’s shoulder, forced to bend on a difficult position because of the height difference.

“Thank you, bro.”

“Whatever happens in there. . . Always remember that,” insists Clay, in case he still hadn’t made his point across.

“You’re taking an amazing step to recovery,” agrees Matt, joining in the hug, and then Lainie does so, too.

“Way to ruin a brotherly moment,” scowls Clay, pulling away.

But they laugh it out and then Justin takes his bag, thanks the family members again, and goes straight to the counter.

“Hi, I’m Justin Foley. I called a few days ago.”

* * *

Clay was just taking a shower when he heard the ringtone and jumped out of the bathroom. Dripping water all over the floor, a towel around his waist, he finds the cellphone on the kitchen table and answers before it goes to voicemail.

“Hey, Justin. Just a sec,” he begs.

Releasing the phone on the table without hitting the ‘end call’ button, he puts on a shirt and the underpants, and runs the towel through his hair, feeling a little bit like a dog after heavy rain, throwing water everywhere.

“I’m here,” he says, sitting on the bed.

“Shit, Clay, I didn’t check the time. Should I call later?” asks Justin, a bit worried. He probably didn’t realize it’s a weekday, not that Clay will bother reminding him.

“Don’t you dare hang up. You know it’s never a bad time for you,” scowls Clay. Upfront, he stares at Justin’s bed, picturing him there, with him. His sweater, his damned perfect hair, his smile as they joke and banter to no end. Even Val seems to know who’s calling, for she jumps onto Clay’s bed and rests against his knee, almost as if she wanted to talk with Justin, as well. She misses Justin as much as the next one--after all, he brought the dog into the family.

“Hey, want to say hello to Justin?” he says, putting the phone by Val's ear. “Say: hello, Justin!” Val, not that small puppy anymore, barks with a couple of powerful and gracious barks to greet her owner. By the time Clay gets back the cellphone, Justin’s laughing loudly.

“Yeah, she misses you. And I miss you being around and taking care of her, too,” Clay scowls. “Being on cleaning, feeding, and walking her out duties isn’t that much fun 24/7.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” whispers Justin.

“Don’t sweat it, dude. And nevermind that, how’s it going?”

“It’s. . . It’s hard, man,” Justin confesses. Clay sighs, feeling bad for him--Justin's only open about the therapy to his brother. Whenever he talks about it with their folks or Jessica, he tends to focus on the efforts he’s pulling and the successes he’s earned.

“So, the breaking out plan is a go? Just say the word and I’ll come to fetch you tonight, eight pm.”

“Not just yet,” laughs Justin. “It’s not _that_ bad, really. But I don’t know what to say when they ask me about my feelings and certain events. . .”

“You mean, Bryce?”

“I haven’t told them what happened,” Justin promises hastily. “But you do have to remember, he was my best friend growing up and a very important part of my life for so many years. . . It’s the beginning of everything.”

“Right,” nods Clay, unable to find a single positive word about Bryce. “Well, here’s the thing--you don’t have to tell them anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Maybe difficulty to open up runs in the family,” chuckles Justin. Clay’s not going to lie either, although he is proud that Justin’s getting the help he needs, his opinion on psychologists and psychiatrists hasn’t changed yet.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Listen, there might be a family therapy session soon, would you lot be comfortable with that?”

“Of course, Justin,” assures Clay, even before consulting his folks, because he already knows the answer. “Anything you need. We’re here for you. You’ll get through this, you’ll see.”

“Thanks, man. And now, I should probably let you get ready for school.”

Clay checks the clock and confirms that he needs to get going right now. Oh, well. So he’s late for the first period. It’s worth it if that means he can talk to Justin.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to your folks. Tell them I’ll try to call them in a couple of days.”

“Sure, man. Don’t worry about us, you just keep doing what you’re doing, and remember we’re so proud of you, okay?” Clay says, standing from the bed to look for his remaining clothes.

“Yeah. I know. Thanks,” Justin bids farewell.

“I’ll give your best to Jessica. Bye, Justin, and good luck with all that shit.”

The bed unmade and the towel thrown carelessly, Clay puts on his jeans, sneakers, and hoodie. He fills Val's bowls of food and water, picks up the schoolbag, and then he runs out of the door, already planning in his mind a route where he can bend the speed limit a little bit without risking traffic cameras or police cars.

* * *

“Are you still doing research for the English Lit paper?” scowls Jessica when she takes a good look at the book Clay's brought with him to the table. “I didn’t know there _was_ any more research to do.”

“There’s always more research to do,” Clay winks at her, making the girl scowl.

“You do know the maximum grade you’re going to get in that assignment is an A, right?” Before Clay comes up with an answer, Jessica’s cell phone rings, despite the Library rules, and she almost throws herself at the device. Upon confirming it was only a text message and briefly reading who the sender was, she puts the phone down again.

“I know, getting an A+ is almost a personal bet I’ve had with myself for the past four years,” he chuckles. “But this isn’t for me, this is for Justin. I want to help him with everything I can when he returns from the Center so he doesn’t fail senior year.”

“Clay, that’s commendable, and I love Justin so, too--”

Upon the cell phone ringing once more, she leaves the sentence hanging and checks the screen again. Clay, pretending to be too busy with his papers, chuckles at Jessica’s hastiness. He understands only too well.

“I’m sorry. I’ll put this in silent mode,” she says then, doing exactly that.

“I understand. I miss him, too,” Clay nods, smiling fondly at her.

 _“I’m a mess!_ I can’t believe I can only talk to the boy I’m in love with once a week. . . And that I have to wait two weeks to see him,” she complains, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, rules kind of suck,” agrees Clay. “I don’t think you’re doing so bad, though.”

In fact, Clay himself, up to a few weeks ago, used to act just like Jessica does nowadays whenever his phone rang--the only difference was, he doesn’t have so many friends and acquaintances who keep texting or calling him. In the end, he solved the conundrum by setting a special ringtone for Justin’s calls and text messages. He never puts his phone in silent mode anymore and always remembers to set the maximum volume whenever he’s in the shower, studying with music, or playing videogames.

“But, returning to the subject at hand, this is all for Justin,” he insists, tapping the paper with his pen.

“So I hope you remember the answers to the Math test you took this morning.”

“And as I was saying, I love Justin as much as you do and I do want him to graduate with all of us. . . But there’s something called _cheating,_ you know?”

“Oh, come on, Jess,” scowls Clay. “Grab a few of those yearbooks and find me a promotion where someone didn’t cheat their ass off to graduation.”

“Fine,” chuckles Jessica, taking the books again. “Justin was certainly a bad influence for our A-student Clay Jensen.”

“And I probably was for him, too.”

Jessica scoffs at that and, without a proper response to give, Clay just orders her to focus on her papers and tests--for Justin’s sake, if nothing else.

* * *

“I needn’t remind you that recovery is a very long process which sometimes is never quite finished completely. Justin may require professional help for weeks and months to come yet and that does not equal failure or weakness. It’s more a testament of wisdom and fortitude.”

Itching on his chair, Clay can barely hold still as they listen to the speech--which they already know from multiple times before. He keeps looking up at Justin time and time again, smiling broadly. _He did it._ He fucking did it. After this last family therapy session, he’s coming back home. He’ll struggle for a bit, but he’ll also pass senior year. It’s all coming together now.

“Remember too that relapse is, as much as we wished it wasn’t, an intrinsic part of the process. Despite the support we can give him, Justin may consume some time in the future. In this case, it would not do to look for the guilty party or point fingers at anyone or get angry. It just means Justin needs more help, that is all.”

“So, what can you do at home?” asks Dr. Miller, a rhetorical question Clay is certain she will answer by herself. But, luckily, Lainie interjects her.

“There’s no drop of alcohol in Clay and Justin’s room,” she says.

“And we’ve got that drug testing kit you mentioned.”

“Very well, then,” approves the doctor, before addressing Justin again. “Remember, Justin, that random drug testing isn’t a form of mistrust. It’s a way they can help you.”

“Yeah. I understand,” he nods.

“It may also be beneficial if both of you took the drug test together,” the doctor says, pointing at Justin and Clay.

“To show your brother support.”

“Absolutely. No problem,” nods Clay.

“So, do you have any more questions for us?”

The four family members shake their heads and then check in with each other, saying that it’s alright to have inquires, or doubts, or fears. But everything’s been talked through, they know the work ahead of them all, and they’re ready for it. They know what to do at home, how to help him cope with stress from work and school, how to help him when they’re both off to College--Dr. Miller will give them the number of a Center and professionals who can do a follow-up on Justin’s case wherever city he’s accepted in. They’ve got reports from the doctors for Court and Laine has promised time and time again this rehab won’t be detrimental for Justin’s adoption.

Which means, Justin is finally coming back home. He looks equally terrified and excited, despite all of Clay’s and Lainie’s and Matt’s promises and reassurances. He fears he’s going to screw up and disappoint everybody, but as they’ve just been told for the umpteenth time, if it happens, they'll have to accept it and move on.

The important thing here is, Justin’s coming home.

* * *

Clay gets a bowl from the cabinet, bends the bag of chips carefully, and slowly pours the chips until they fill just a little bit over the bowl. He then takes a clothespin to seal the bag properly so the chips do not soften over the course of the meal.

By his side, Justin’s methods are a little bit different: he opens the chips bag with so much energy that some fly off everywhere and pours the entire bag on his bowl. Of course, that's too many chips, but Justin’s got a solution for the ones who end up on the countertop: he just eats the bunch of them.

“What’re you looking at?” he demands upon Clay’s astonished face.

“Somehow, after all this time, you _still_ manage to surprise me,” scowls Clay, grabbing another bag of chips. Justin takes it off his hands.

“Hey, you do you and let me be, okay?”

“Fine,” accepts Clay.

“You guys need anything?” Matt asks from the stairs, jacket hanging from his arm. Must have heard them arguing from the master bedroom upstairs.

“Nope,” says Justin.

“We’re good. Totally,” agrees Clay.

“Well, your mother and I will be out of your way in a few minutes,” says Matt. “When are your friends coming over?”

“Half an hour.”

“Which gives us twenty-five minutes to spare after we finish with these,” Justin reminds Clay, showing him his second empty bag of chips.

“Not really. We still need to set the table, prepare the drinks, reheat the food--”

“Okay, forget I said anything,” scowls Justin. Another set of footsteps descends the stairs and Clay and Justin, by mutual silent agreement, decide not to argue about anything else for two minutes--until their folks have left.

“Are you guys set?” she asks as she reaches the living room, sporting a black dress and jacket.

“Yes,” nods Justin before Clay says some stupid thing.

“Maybe we could stay,” says Lainie, he plural including Matt as well. “We’ll remain in our bedroom, you won’t even hear us--”

“No, Mom, _please,”_ begs Clay. “You really have to go. Trust us--just one night.”

Clay’s embarrassment upon the threat of their parents staying at the house during the party does make Matt and Lanie smile. It was just a stupid suggestion, they wouldn't really spoil their fun like that, but they do enjoy putting Clay on the spot now and then. Messing with their kids is just perks of the job, on occasion.

“What do you say, Matt? Can we trust them for one night?”

“It’s risky, I won’t deny that,” agrees Matt, staring at both their kids panicking. “But maybe they deserve a vote of confidence.”

“We totally do,” agrees Clay hastily.

“The house will be in perfect shape tomorrow morning,” promises Justin. “And you won’t hear a complaint from the neighbors.”

“Well, with those reassurances, it’s all right,” chuckles Lainie. “We feel a bit more assured.”

“Indeed,” nods Matt. “Have fun, boys.”

“Don’t do any hard drugs,” adds Lainie. “Or any other drugs.”

“Stop worrying, it’s going to be fine,” scowls Clay from the kitchen, already busy with some other stuff. He doesn’t address his parents another word or a look and, a few seconds later, Justin meets him back in the kitchen.

“Missed a dish, man.”

“Who else have you invited?” he asks, already reaching for the cabinet.

“Ani.” That does stop Clay and he turns around, frowning at Justin, surprised by the uncanny invitation.

“Thought you didn’t like her.”

“She can get on my nerves sometimes, but that’s not the same as _hating_ her.”

“If it were, you and I probably wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s not true. Brothers fight. That’s life for you,” replies Justin, resting against the countertop as he waits for Clay to pluck up the energy to grab that last missing dish.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Hey.” Justin calls him out before Clay turns his back on him again. He takes something out of his pocket and throws it so Clay has the time to grab it mid-air, and then blush hysterically at realizing Justin has just given him a condom.

“What the hell, dude?”

“Listen, I may not like Ani that much, but you do. I’m just saying, there will be a lot of empty rooms in the house tonight, which means, privacy. I can also keep the others out of your way if you need to. I just want you to have those in case, you know--”

“No, I _don’t_ know.”

“I’m pretty sure you do,” chuckles Justin, taking that last dish himself--Clay wouldn’t be so worked up over the matter if he didn’t know exactly what he’s trying to imply. “Better be safe than sorry.”

Back at the kitchen, Clay needs like thirty solid seconds to react. Justin's pleased to see he puts it away in his trousers pockets instead of just throwing it in the trash. That is a step forward.

“Hey, in case things between you and Jess _do_ get there--”

“So you _did_ know what I meant.”

“Of course, I knew. I’m not _that_ stupid,” scowls Clay, shaking his head before resuming his earlier point. “As I was saying, if things got there. . . Please use any of the spare rooms and not do it on my bed again?”

Justin bursts out laughing, resting against one of the chairs. “Yeah, I think we can agree to that.”

“Great. In that case, let’s please leave all this conversation behind and pick up the phone. We should order the food in now so it gets here before midnight.”

They are not getting through this whole dinner unscathed, fears Justin, taking the glasses over to the table. Clay attempting to control everything and have everything ready is stressing Justin out.

“And you say you’re not uptight. . .” he mutters under his breath.

“Heard that!” scowls Clay.

Another argument arises when they need to choose the pizzas and order them in, of course, but in the end, they manage not to kill each other off. They just set to prepare the drinks, Clay taking sodas from the kitchen, and Justin carrying a few too many beers from the outer house. The first guests to arrive, promptly at seven-thirty, are Jessica and Ani. The former picked the latter up from her house.

“I still cannot believe that Clay Jensen’s throwing a party at his place,” chuckles Jessica when Clay welcomes them into the house. “What is this, the third party you ever attend in your whole life?”

“Well, the occasion calls for it, don’t you think?” he replies.

“Hey, you, gorgeous,” Justin greets them. He addresses Ani a courteous smile and then pulls Jessica for a kiss, resting against the wall.

“Congratulations,” Jess whispers when they stop to catch their breath. Justin chuckles and leans to continue the kiss. “Going to rehab and still graduate. . . What you’re doing is amazing, Justin. We’re so proud.”

They seem to forget all about Clay and Ani, who just exchange awkward looks and smiles, Clay trying to remind Justin of where they are by clearing his throat. Since his methods are too subtle, or maybe Justin’s just pushing it too hard for Clay to attempt kissing Ani as well, Clay waves his head at Ani in an invitation, and she follows him to the kitchen. He takes her jacket and then shows her around the house.

“Well, your tour guide skills have improved since the last time,” chuckles Ani when they return to the living room. Justin and Jessica have at some point stopped making out and are now preparing the drinks. “Maybe you should have started with baby steps first.”

“So. . . I should have invited you to my house on your first day of school?”

“You really need to learn what a joke is, Clay,” replies Ani.

“Got it,” chuckles him.

The next ones to ring the bell are Alex and Tyler, then Tony and Caleb. The pizzas arrive around that time and Clay does thank the distractions of the alcoholic drinks and the snacks to keep everyone from the food. Strange emos kids. Zach and Charlie. Everyone greets Clay formally and thank them for the invitation, but as per Justin, he gets hugs and congratulatory messages from almost everyone invited.

“So. . . _PARTY TILL DAAAAAWN!!”_ announces Zach, using his hands as speakers so his voice echoes higher and stronger.

“Not really,” interjects Clay. “Justin has two days to study Maths.”

“You are such a killjoy, Moma Jensen,” scowls Alex.

“That’s the prize I’ve got to pay if I want to graduate with all you, guys,” shrugs Justin, who wasn't embarrassed or bothered at all by Clay’s interjection. “And I want to, so, let’s not go overboard with this celebration, OK?”

“Fine,” scowls Zach, giving up. “So. . . Party till midnight?”

Scowls raise all around. “That doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?” Ani asks.

However, everyone agrees to the timetable.

* * *

Sitting on the bed, Clay has to hide a grin behind his comic. Throughout his shower, Justin managed to knock out an impressive amount of things and, judging by the yells and struggles, he almost tripped and fell coming out of the shower.

“Everything alright in there?” he asks, mocking tone.

“Yeah-- _fuck,”_ scowls Justin, for he almost dropped his cup of coffee. The beverage spills all over but at the very least the mug comes out unscathed and Justin throws a cloth on the floor.

At his clumsiness, Clay chuckles again.

“Apart from making fun of me, is there any reason in particular why you woke up so early?” scowls Justin.

“Wanted to wish you good luck, of course,” says Clay. “And tell you to relax. Everything’s going to be OK. ”

“I’m a bit nervous, I suppose. It’s like fucking first day of school all over again, you know?”

“I think I understand,” nods Clay, putting down the comic. Justin has missed many school days in the unrelenting high school life, which has led to gossip and a lot of talking behind his back. He’s had to suffer going back there one too many times with a lot of rumors going on. “But you’re only going back for a couple of exams and then you’re done, just like everyone else. It’s not the end of the world, trust me.”

Seems like Justin heard nothing, he’s still busy trying to clean up the mess he made with the spilled coffee. Clay sits on the edge of the bed.

“Want a last-minute test?”

Looking up, at first Justin is going to say no at such an incredulous question just before the exams that begin in less than an hour, but then he smiles warmly at his brother and nods. It’ll do him good.

“Okay, yeah.”

Clay thinks for a second--coming up with questions they’ve reviewed this past weekend even without checking any textbooks.

“Cloud formation is an example of condensation because…?”

“Water vapor condenses around particles in the atmosphere,” says Justin, sitting on his bed in his underwear.

“Good,” approves Clay. “Now, which river in the States has the largest drainage system of the country?”

“The Mississippi,” he says after pondering for a second.

“All early bases for human civilization include easy access to what two things?”

“Freshwater and fertile soil.”

“Perfect!” says Clay. “See? You’re ready. Now. . . Is that a hickey?”

Upon that one question which definitely _isn’t_ on any textbooks, Justin freezes, half putting his shirt. Clay stands from the bed to examine the strange mark on Justin’s neck.

“Dude, we’ve been together 24/7 since I got out of rehab, when the fuck would I get a hickey?” scowls Justin, approaching the mirror to examine it, too.

“I don’t know, you and Jess. . . The party. . .”

“We didn’t,” Justin promises. He then drops his arms to the side and puts on his shirt, still checking the side of his neck in the mirror, a little worried. “I have no idea what this is.”

“That’s it, I’m booking you a doctor’s appointment today,” settles Clay, handing Justin his backpack. “Now get out of here so you’re not late to that forsaken exam!”

He almost drags his brother out of the room, Val following and barking closely as if to also wish Justin good luck on the exams. Justin tries to linger with the excuse of his much-needed coffee, but Clay just hands him five bucks to stop by at Monét’s and promises he’ll clean his mess up.

“Good luck!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand that's it. This is how supportive the Jensen family (especially Clay) should have been about Justin going to rehab and the drug testing and helping Justin through such an arduous process. Also, IMO, made no sense for Justin and Jess to split up because of rehab. 
> 
> This, also, is what should have happened concerning Justin's HIV. I mean, he had that mark on the neck and was visible all throughout the season, how THE HELL did everyone miss it??? I truly TRULY do not understand.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In chapter 10 from season 4, Clay runs off from the hospital, gets to the police station, and threatens to open fire over civilians and/or police officers. Sheriff Diaz helps him calm down and it is later said that he stayed with Clay for a while, talking with him. This is the later conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although Justin is NOT dying on my watch (or, you know, my work), I believe Clay wasn't exactly short of reasons why he should suffer a breakdown. I feel like this conversation about Justin and his HIV should have been tackled amongst the family members. . . This one and many other subjects, for that matter. 
> 
> Also, news are filled today with so many horrifying stories about police brutality that I believed the writers were actually kind of smart while writing this scene at the police station. . . And wanted to expand it a little bit !

“Here you go,” says the sheriff, laying a plastic cup with water in front of Clay. 

“Thanks,” he manages to utter through a sore and tired throat. He picks up the cup, but when he sees the sheriff sitting across from him at the table, settling with a deep sigh, Clay’s stomach swirls. He couldn’t drink a sip of water. “Don’t you have like. . . Anything else more important to do?”

“Not right now, no,” sheriff Diaz says, as if police work could take any breaks. 

“So you _are_ processing me,” Clay understands, defeated. _Great._ Just what his parents needed: one son arrested, the other hospitalized, all in the same day. They really don’t deserve the headaches their sons give them. 

“No, I am not.”

“You’re. . . You’re not?” 

“You sound surprised,” Diaz points out and Clay has to hide his annoyance at everyone in the world attempting to constantly acknowledge his feelings and reassure him they understand what he’s going through--even if that’s barely believable--but they never give him a solution. 

“I. . . I threatened to fire a gun at innocent civilians. In a police station,” Clay says, not that there’s a chance the sheriff has forgotten the events of the last twenty minutes. “I’m _sure_ there must be a law against it.” 

“There is. But I’m more interested in helping _you_ than implementing the Law. I figured we could talk for a bit, that is all.” 

“Talk?” 

“Or would you like me to give your parents a call?” the sheriff offers, soft voice to try to show he really wants to help. 

“Not right now,” Clay takes advantage of the sheriff Diaz’s prior answer. “I cannot meet my parents right now. I’m. . . Too embarrassed.”

“Why would you be?” Diaz asks, in a voice not as menacing or accusatory as Clay would have thought. “Nothing happened.” 

“Could have,” Clay points out. 

“But it didn’t,” the sheriff insists. 

And there’s really only one reason why it didn’t, actually. Too late, Clay realizes that the man in front of him has literally saved his life and that he hasn’t thanked him for it yet. If one thing had done differently out there, his parents would have two kids at the hospital: one just diagnosed with HIV, the other dead at the morgue. 

“Right. Thank you for. . . Not shooting me back there,” he whispers. It's short of a miracle that he's come out alive, really. 

“Seemed to me you weren’t really a threat to anybody.”

“Would you have responded differently had I been a black boy?” 

Valid a question as that was, and although hearing the answer would be interesting from a social point of view, Clay realizes it wasn’t the time nor the place to ask it. He’s bound to apologize when the deputy groans, leaning forward and resting his elbows the table. 

“What I saw was a boy who needed help, not a bullet. So, tell me, Clay. . . What’s bugging you?” 

“Feels like I should talk to my therapist,” he says, crossing his eyes. That was, in the end, nothing more than a stalling technique that doesn’t fool the Deputy. 

“You wanted someone to listen to you. I’m here now. Wanna tell me?”

Clay bites his lip, assessing the danger and his need to speak up. In the end, he chooses to talk. The sheriff has already helped him by saying his life. He’s already proven his willingness to help, even if his role is reduced to listen. What could Clay possibly lose right now? 

“Do you know about my brother?” 

“Justin? Of course, he was a frequent flyer around here. Seems to me he found a good role model and a supporting family in you and your parents.” 

“Not supportive enough,” scowls Clay. 

“Now, why do you say that? Evidence points to the contrary.”

Trying not to react embarrassed at the masked compliment the sheriff addressed him and his family, Clay drops his head. He clears his throat and proceeds to explain how they found out about Justin’s condition from those kaposi’s sarcoma lesion he had on his neck, and the tests the doctors ran, and the diagnosis they just got from Dr. Griffin. Some part of Clay’s mind realizes, deep down, that he must be violating the doctor-patient confidentiality clauses, continuing the stellar streak of violating all kinds of Laws today. But somehow, he can tell Justin would forgive him for that. 

“And. . . This is it,” Clay summarizes, patting his thighs in a rhythm. A bit embarrassed, he’s been unable to meet the sheriff’s eye throughout his short tale, and he’s still unable to do so now, waiting for him to say something. “That’s how we failed him.” 

“But you said you caught it in time,” the sheriff says, trying to get all the facts straight. 

“We did.” 

“And Justin’s getting the treatment he needs.”

“Of course, he is.” 

“So, he’s going to get better.” 

“Yes, he is. . . Didn’t you hear a word I just said?” scowls Clay, a bit exasperated now. 

“Therefore, if you did everything you were supposed to do, and if Justin is going to pull through it. . .” the sheriff summarizes, without reacting to Clay’s annoyance at all. “How did you fail him again?”

 _“He didn’t come to us!”_ Clay explodes. “We apparently never showed him he could tell us anything and that he didn’t have to keep any more secrets! He thought we’d judge him, that we wouldn’t be supportive, and. . .” 

He’s nearly sobbing, choking on the words he doesn’t dare to utter, the worse fear that was on the back of his mind ever since they got that first doctor’s appointment. They haven’t dealt with this as a normal, supporting, united family should have, and it pains him so much. No worse than Justin, of course. 

But all it takes is someone asking the right question at the right time for him to burst it all out. 

“What do you fear?”

“What would have happened if we hadn’t seen those marks? What could have happened if Justin hadn’t been diagnosed in time?” Clay explodes again, his voice rising involuntarily. “He could have. . . After all he’s been through. . . He could have. . .” 

“Don’t do that to yourself, son,” the sheriff forbids him vehemently, yet using a soft voice to counter for Clay’s shrieks and sobs. “Never dwell in the worst-case scenario, especially if you know it’s not going to happen--because Justin _is_ going to get the treatment he needs, he _is_ going to get better, and he _is_ going to College soon. That’s all you need to know. There’s nothing else to wonder or fear.” 

At that response, Clay starts breathing erratically, unable to form a coherent word--thanks to Dr. Elman’s sessions, he recognizes the signs of a panic attack. However, knowing what it is and being able to remember the tricks to put a stop to it are two very different things. One cannot force their mind to stay cool and drink water when they can barely think or breathe at all, his muscles tensing. 

Sheriff Diaz stands, goes around the table, and leans by Clay’s side, holding his shoulders in case he should feel faint. 

“It’s OK, son. You’re OK. Justin is going to be OK. Close your eyes, try to focus on your breathing,” the sheriff whispers, using a mellow voice in an attempt not to get Clay’s symptoms worse. “Is there any medication you’re taking?” 

“No,” replies Clay, eyes still shut. The sheriff tries to get Clay to unclench his jaw and relax his muscles, calm him down through his speech and reassurances. After a moment, Clay leans against him, weeping openly now. 

He tries to picture that goddamn “happy place” Dr. Elman told him about, which isn’t so much a happy place rather than a room where he can kick and scream as loud as he can without injuring anyone or worrying anyone, Clay slowly, gradually, simmers down. 

For about two minutes, the sheriff allows him to have a good cry and to let it all out. Afterward, when he seems to be doing better, he offers Clay a tissue and leaves to refill his glass of water. 

“Better?” he asks, tentatively, when he’s drunk the whole cup.

“Yeah. Think so.” 

The sheriff then takes the chair to sit by Clay’s side, not across from him with a table in the middle, causing more distancing and barriers, both physical and emotional. Seems to him Clay hasn’t had the chance to express himself or to have his fears heard. Or even to cry, as it turns out. 

“I’m going to say it again,” he says, just so the message sinks in. “Justin’s going to be OK. People with HIV get to live long and healthy lives, now.”

 _“Why?”_ Clay sobs. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

“You know, Clay,” the sheriff begins with a soft voice, the same tone Dr. Ellman uses during their sessions when he’s about to say something Clay won’t like at all, “I can only make conjectures about why Justin didn’t want to tell you, but the thing is. . . Back in my day, HIV and same-sex relationships were. . . Taboos, as I’m sure you already know. It was a subject surrounded by mystery because of ignorance, prejudice, shame, and fear. Maybe that’s what Justin felt. Maybe that hasn’t entirely gone away, just yet. It doesn’t mean you, personally, failed him.”

“Just as a society?” Clay suggests, finishing his statement. 

“Maybe,” grants sheriff Diaz. 

Clay wipes some lingering and treacherous tears off his eyes and crossing his arms, pondering the sheriff’s words. 

“You know, we say we’re now more open-minded today than ever before, and that our world is better than our parents’ generation. . . But sounds bullshit to me,” he scowls. Only when the sheriff chuckles, Clay realizes, only too late, who he’s talking to and hastily tries to mend his words. 

“You’re free to speak your mind,” the Deputy dismisses his attempts at apologizing. “It is true you live in a difficult world.”

“When you’re going through Hell, keep going. . .” Clay whispers with a little smile. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing. It’s just something my Dad says.”

Two knocks on the door interrupt the conversation and Clay’s poor attempts at explaining a quote that didn’t use to have any meaning for him. Deputy Standall peaks from outside, sending a warm smile to Clay before addressing the sheriff. From the entrance, they can hear screams--what has happened now? The night shift used to be a little bit less eventful. 

“We need you outside, sir.”

“Speaking of the devil,” says Clay, letting out a burst of humorless laughter. “That’s going to be my Dad.”

Seeing Clay’s defeated demeanor, shoulders and head dropped, a tired and desperate expression on his face, the sheriff takes pity on him--yet again. He pulls his chair away, pondering how to proceed and knowing that Clay should not carry any more struggles over his shoulders. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says, trying to convey with one look that Clay is not, in fact, in any trouble whatsoever. 

Deputy Standall steps away from the door to let the sheriff through, looking down at Clay, who avoids Alex’s dad’s stare. He’s uncomfortable with the paradoxically warm treatment he’s getting, which he knows stems out of pity, not really deserving the bubble wrap they’re putting him in. Clay’s not entirely sure he deserves, or rather needs, a punishment for all he’s done. . . But nurture certainly isn’t, either. 

Even so, unaware of his thoughts, Deputy Standall also offers him another refreshment or something to eat, which Clay refuses. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll sort it all out. You’ll be fine.” 

_That’s if I don’t die out of embarrassment from the scene my father’s making out there,_ Clay would like to argue, but he figures this is not the time for joking. He simply nods and, at long last, Deputy Standall closes the door. 

Outside, in the hall, the sheriff meets Tony seated on those plastic chairs--he hasn’t moved from there at all throughout the entire conversation with Clay. At that moment, he also helps out by confirming, simply with a raise of eyebrows, that it is Mr. Jensen yelling from the entrance. 

“I could--” 

“You go in there with Clay,” instructs the sheriff softly, pointing at the interrogation room with his head. “He can use a good friend, right now.”

Tony jumps off his seat, eager to help Clay in any way possible. _Clay really has got a strong, supportive system,_ the sheriff reflects. Whatever he’s going through, whatever tests he’s faced now or in the future, Clay’s he’s going to be OK. And Justin, too. 

“And son,” the sheriff calls Tony before he steps in, “do you need an ice bag for that eye?” 

“I’m alright,” the boy dismisses the offer. “Thank you, sir. ”

Tony takes a sharp breath and steps into the interrogation room with Deputy Standall’s permission. The sheriff considers he can do nothing else for Clay and instead, he turns to take care of the other Jensen family member causing havoc at the police station. 

Of course, Mr. Jensen hasn’t threatened to start shooting against civilians at the station, but he was giving Lucy, at the reception, a hard time, demanding someone’s help concerning Clay. As soon as the sheriff shows up and clears his throat, all of Mr. Jensen’s demands for help, channeling his anxiety, is addressed to him. 

“Sheriff Diaz! You need to help me!” 

“Mr. Jensen--”

“It’s my son! Clay! I don’t know where he is. He ran off from the hospital and I cannot find him! _You have to help me!”_

“Mr. Jensen, take a deep breath and--”

“Please, I’m really worried,” begs the man, approaching the sheriff and taking him by the shoulder. “He just got some distressing news and he shouldn’t be alone right now. I don’t think he’s a danger for others, but he might be a danger to himself--”

“Mr. Jensen,” the sheriff tries again, raising his voice now. That snaps the man out of his desperate blaze and he holds his breath, waiting for the sheriff’s next words. “Your son is alright. He’s here.” 

“Here?” Baffled, Mr. Jensen repeats that adverb in a whisper, looking around. He’s even more worried after receiving that information. “What the hell did he do?” 

“He didn't injure himself or anyone else,” promises the sheriff. “He just needed a chat.”

“A chat. At a police station,” Mr. Jensen summarizes with a flat tone and frowned eyebrows, completely baffled. 

“Maybe we could talk inside,” suggests the sheriff, pointing inside with his head. He’s going to let Clay and Tony have some time alone while he tries to help Mr. Jensen simmer down, so the father-and-son reunion doesn’t evolve in catastrophe. “Charlie, why don’t you get Mr. Jensen a cup of coffee?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not exactly following s4's exact storyline here. I'm going to write next about senior's camping trip and Prom :) Because the gang and bonds created in s3 were completely butchered in s4, and I want to have a chance to explore the Jensens and Justin's friends being supportive about his condition--the drugs and the HIV. 
> 
> Again, sorry for the inconsistency of the work, I'll try to update as soon as possible ! 
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter and enjoy all future installments, too!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three-word summary: senior camping trip !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one chapter is basically a fix-it of the ep 4 of season 4, the Senior Camping Trip. Although I will not cover the whole trip, I did want to fix a few things with this chapter: the (lack thereof) support and companionship amongst the members of the gang, which was pretty much non-existent throughout season 4. Also, Jessica and Justin's relationship. And, last but not least, the support Justin was supposed to get from his family members. 
> 
> TW: strong language, mentions of substance abuse.

Coming down from the school bus, freezing without his coat, Clay’s eyes immediately fall on the football team players. Easily spotted thanks to their jackets, they’re joking and having fun in a corner, unaware of the hatred look Clay sends them across the parking lot. 

“Hey,” Justin calls behind him, handing Clay his coat. “Let’s try not to lose our shit out here.” 

“I’ll behave if they behave,” Clay replies. 

“That doesn’t sound like the smartest course of action, man.” 

“Whoever said I’m the smartest kid in our family?” scowls Clay. 

At that, Justin rolls his eyes, not even bothering to dignify the statement with a response. Before he can change the subject altogether, however, Tony comes to meet them. 

“So, are we going to do anything about it?” he demands. 

Within seconds, the gang reconvenes. Tyler, Tony, Alex, Jessica, they all gather around, too, putting on their coats, varying degrees of nervousness and anxiety in their eyes. After all, they did get an email from Clay saying they should go to the police. And although they mostly believe Clay’s story about his computer being hijacked by the football team players, that also means they need to take action. 

“Yes, we are,” Clay confirms. “This needs to end.” 

“We confront them. Today,” accepts Jessica, crossing her arms. 

“We do it together,” Justin insists, softer tone. “United--no one gets left behind.” 

Before they can start concocting a plan to face the football team, the senior students are called to attention--by none other than Mrs. Jensen. She commands everyone to gather around and then shows off her oral skills in Court by explaining all the rules that should be maintained out here in the woods and reminding everyone the tasks they were given long ago. 

Her speech done, she claps her hands a few times so the teenagers disperse. The little gang finds out their murderous intents have all but vanished now, replaced by surprise and even amusement concerning Lainie Jensen. Even Clay and Justin crack the briefest of smiles. Trust Mrs. Jensen to break the tension by making the situation ten times more awkward. 

“Yeah, she does love her lists,” chuckles Justin, picking up his backpack.

“But. . . Don’t you dare ask her about them, or she’ll just spend an entire hour listing the benefits of making and following lists,” begs, or rather implores, Clay. He couldn’t listen to her closing arguments about lists one more time in this lifetime. 

What a difference a proper distraction and a little bit of laughter do, they all reflect, collecting their gear and moving onto the camping site. They realize that the short interlude has, without Lainie knowing what she did or how she did it, deescalated the situation and temporarily defused the ticking bomb. For Clay and Justin feel, right now, more embarrassed than anything else, whereas their friends are slightly amused at their embarrassment--and, in that spirit, they all scatter around to find their spots.

“I think I’m further down,” says Jessica when Justin and Clay find their site. 

Clay drops his backpack and rummages its contents, pretending to search for an item of invaluable importance at the moment, although in fact, he’s only looking over at Justin and Jessica over the shoulder. He sees her resting her hand on Justin’s arm as naturally as she did it before.  
“See you later,” says Justin. “If you need any help with your tent, just yell.” 

“Will do,” chuckles Jess. “Bye, Clay.” 

He waves goodbye, without really looking at her, as custom would indicate. Only when she disappears amongst the crowd and the trees does Clay stand, sending Justin one worried look. 

“What is it?” he demands. 

“I know this isn’t my place to ask questions or point shit out when I’m like the last person to go to for advice on these matters. . .” 

“Clay, please, don’t go into one of your five-minutes ramblings before actually getting to the point,” begs Justin, running a hand through his hair. “Just say whatever’s on your mind, I beg you.” 

“Okay, then. Hadn’t you guys broken up?” 

“Yeah, we have, thank you for throwing salt into the wound,” scowls Justin, kneeling on the ground to start setting up their tent. Before Clay tries to apologize for his impeccable timing, Justin sighs deeply, head dropped. “Look, I’m a recovering addict. I cannot just replace one addiction with the other--it’s not healthy or fair to either one of us. So, for the time being, not being together is the best course of action for our relationship.” 

“And what was that before?” Clay asks, pointing over to Jess’ approximate location with his finger. “Because I saw the look you gave her. There’s clearly. . .” 

“I still love her,” Justin replies, answering what seemed like a tricky question with the simplest of answers. “And the fact that we’re on some sort of a break, for my sake, doesn’t mean we cannot be amicable to one another.” 

“I see,” nods Clay. “I didn’t mean to make this awkward. You just. . . Do whatever’s best for you, I’m sure Jess and you can figure out the rest.” 

“Yeah, thanks for the advice--that’s what we’re trying to do,” nods Justin. As if wanting to put an end to the conversation, he lays the plastic tarp on the ground and then spreads the tent open, piling up all the poles. 

“Right, then it’s all said and done. I’m going to fetch some wood for the fire. Oh, just one more thing--you didn’t forget your meds, did you?” 

Justin lets out a loud, exasperated sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Dude, it’s like the third time you ask me. I appreciate your concern, but you can stop it. Like right fucking now if you please.” 

“Fine. See you in ten.” 

Attempting to collect firewood while avoiding both Lainie and the football team players is a harder task than Clay’d initially thought, and he returns to his and Justin’s site about twenty minutes later. . . To see his brother struggling with putting up their tent. Of course, if this was a race, Justin’s doing better than some other people, but far worse than others, who’ve finished their chores by now. 

Not really the best moment to point that out, sighs Clay. He drops all the firewood on the designated area for whoever’s in charge of making the fire, and kneels by Justin’s side, picking up where he left off. He’s already connected all the tent poles, it’s just a matter of finding the correct flaps to insert them all into. 

“It’s easier with a partner,” he winks at Justin, who was panting just a little bit, out of exhaustion or anger, he couldn’t tell. “You almost got it.” 

In the end, they get the job done. Since none of them are on cooking duties, they reconvene with the gang, so they can tackle the real task that’s brought them all out here in the first place, that is, leading with the football team. What with this being a somewhat relatively safe and neutral environment to gather up and talk, outside of school grounds and with the minimum adult supervision possible, it all made the perfect circumstances to set up a meeting. 

“Any idea where they are?” demands Tyler. Since they’ve got some spare time before dinner, everyone is scattering away. 

“I heard something about a cabin,” says Alex. “Rings any bells?” 

“Think I know where it is,” says Justin. “The guys used to talk about it. This way, come on.” 

Picking up their coats, they make sure both Lainie and Deputy Standall are busy by the other side of the camp, helping some students with their tents or with dinner. And so, they hit the road towards the general direction Justin points them to, promising it’s not very far and that the path to the cabin is fairly easy, even at night. They’ve barely covered fifty feet from the camp that Jessica spins around. She stands on a rock to make sure they are, indeed, alone, and clears her throat. 

“Before we go,” she begs, “we need a meeting of our own. We’re going to establish some ground rules, here, because we so fucking need them.” 

“What? No swearing, no punching, no biting?” Tony suggests, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m serious here,” scowls Jessica, not at all amused or fathomed by the question. “We don’t know who’s messing up with us exactly, who knows, or suspects, that we framed Monty for Bryce’s murder. Whether Clay’s computer was hacked or not--” 

“It was!” Clay repeats for what it feels like the umpteenth time. “I keep telling you, it was either the football team, or Winston.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare bring up Winston again,” scowls Alex, resting against a tree and purposefully avoiding Clay’s eyes. Ever since he and Ani told everyone about the relationship Winston had with Monty, and the fact that Winston could corroborate Monty’s alibi the night of Bryce’s murder, he’s had a hard time coping with all of these schemes and plans and lies. 

“Clay, why don’t you record yourself saying that you were hacked and play the audio from now on? It’ll save us all time,” sighs Zach. 

“Focus!” Jessica orders, rising her voice without meaning to. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. We’re all breakable. We are, Clay, and you’re worst than any of us. So, ground-rule here is--we stick together. We’re all in this together, and we’ll somehow, someday, come out of this together, too. That’s all I’m asking. We keep each other’s backs and we’ll be fine.” 

“Sure thing,” nods Justin, a broad, prideful smile on his face. He reaches a hand to help Jess down the rock she was standing up in, not that it supposed an insurmountable height, but she takes his hand nonetheless. 

“Let’s go, come on,” says Zach. 

True to his word, the cabin, as Justin promised, appears in the middle of the woods after five or ten more minutes of walking--it was an easy path taking into account Alex and Clay’s clumsiness. They hear a racket of music and laughter from a ten-foot distance. The football players sure know how to take advantage of the privacy to have some fun, they reckon. The intimacy works to their advantage, too, as they take their positions in front of the cabin, in a straight line, heads high. Jessica stands in the middle, upfront, with Clay, Justin, and Zach to her left, and Tony, Alex, Tyler to her right. 

“Diego, come on out!” Justin orders. 

After a beat or two, the music stops, and then five figures with the football jacket on, Diego upfront, come out of the cabin--George stands close, too, although he looks uncertain about which side he should be standing with. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Diego scowls. 

“We just want to talk. Could we maybe do this in a civilized, adult manner?” Suggests Jessica, trying to maintain the peace for the moment. It was a very good, mature way of confronting the situation--it was just bad luck she hadn’t consulted it with Clay, who blows all of her intentions up. 

“So you got into my email now, too?” he demands, taking one step forward. Justin stops him by holding his arm, probably the right call. 

“Let’s bring it down a notch!” Jessica commands, grabbing Clay’s arm, too. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Diego frowns, a tired voice from all of Clay’s nonsensical accusations. 

“The email you sent from my account,” says Clay. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Bullshit!” Clay explodes. At the same time, judging that his brother isn’t really taking things coolly, Justin begs him to calm down, pulling him away from Diego and the rest of the football players. 

“Look,” demands Diego, using a lower, softer tone to make Clay understand, “I told you, I’m not. . . I’m not doing this anymore. OK?” 

“You better not,” says Tony, by Jessica’s right. He steps forward and this time, no one stops him, although the football team players don’t consider his advances menacing at all. “Whatever you have planned, or not planned. . . It all ends, alright?” 

“What are you going to do if we don’t?” Luke chuckles, behind Diego. 

“You don’t want to find out,” Tony warns them. 

“Oh, _now_ I’m truly terrified. I’m going to need a change of underwear.” 

“Listen here,” Justin demands, trying to get back on track before Tony and Luke mess everything up. “Whatever retaliations you thought of doing during this camping trip, and any others after, when we returned to Liberty and to classes. . . Just don’t. Cease and fucking desist. Alright? It’s getting lame.” 

“As I said. . . I’ve no idea what your brother was talking about,” says Diego, sending Clay a smug look, “but fine, we’ve got an agreement.” 

“Good,” approves Jessica. “Maybe we are more mature than I’d thought.” 

Despite the girl’s remarks, Diego keeps staring at Clay the whole damn time, looking for an excuse--begging Clay for an opening. Remembering Jessica’s words earlier, and all the warnings he’s gotten from his friends and Doctor Eldman, he tries to pull through his rage and not act on it. 

“I think the rumor might have gotten it right. Maybe you shouldn’t have come, Clay,” he whispers. 

“Are you threatening me?” Clay scowls in return. 

“Perhaps,” shrugs Diego. “Are you feeling threatened?” 

“Sorry to disappoint, Jess, but I think they really are as stupid as they look,” scowls Zach, moving to stand behind Clay. “Because the thing you’re forgetting here, Diego, is that if you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us. So, I’ll ask you again, are you, by any chance, threatening Clay?” 

“That’s funny,” scoffs Diego, shaking his head incredulously. “Because we have that same saying in the football team, as well. We all have each other’s backs. But did you have Bryce’s back? Monty’s? What about you, Justy?” 

“Some backs aren’t worth protecting,” scowls Zach through clenched teeth. 

“And this isn’t about two dead guys,” proceeds Justin, his hand on Clay’s shoulder as if to state what’s the whole damn point around here. “This is about the damage we can cause each other if we start making problems by talking out of turn, or to the wrong people. It can end badly.” 

“Okay, I believe all the usual threats have been made,” says Diego as to conclude the meeting, his tone way too nonchalant for everybody’s taste. “Are we done here?” 

“Just so long as we understand the terms?” Jessica presses. 

“They’re not that difficult to understand. We’ll stay off Clay’s hair,” nods Diego, raising his hands in the air. “Contrary to popular opinion, we jocks also have some grey matter up here, you know.” 

“You don’t say,” Alex retorts. “Could have fooled me.” 

After a few more seconds where no one adds anything else--no threats, no teasing, no uncalled jokes--it does seem like all has been said and done. Tension amongst the two groups is still palpable, though, and they can’t quite figure out how to break up the conversation and split. 

“Alright, should we conclude this with a blood pact?” says Harrison, entering the cabin. 

“The fuck is he talking about?” Jessica demands Diego, almost concerned. Before he can answer the question, Harrison comes out of the cabin with a small bong. He doesn’t even ask anyone’s opinion on the matter as he switches on the lighter, reaching the flame for the stem. 

“Harris, man--” George tries to stop his colleague. 

“Are you fucking out of your goddam mind?” scowls Clay. 

“Fuck,” Jessica whispers under her breath, grabbing Justin’s hand. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

She sets off running through the woods, Justin following at her heels, and with them retreating, everyone else dashes after them, as well. Upfront, Jessica won’t, or cannot, stop, and she just keeps running, dragging Justin and therefore all the gang after her, as if her plan was getting out of the woods on foot by dinnertime. 

“Jess!” chuckles Justin after a while. In the end, they manage to actually leave the woods behind and reach the lake’s shore. “Slow down, will you?” 

At his plea, she finally stops, resting against a tree to catch her breath. Justin leans on her knees, gasping for air, too, as everyone else slowly reaches their position--Zach stayed behind to help out Alex, but they all make it, sooner or later. Tyler and Clay drop on their knees on the stones, Zach finds a fallen trunk for Alex to sit on. 

Needing some minutes to rest, Jessica stands and walks up to the lake’s shore, raising her hands to use as visors. Justin joins her after a minute, unable to come up with anything to say, the sunlight reflected on the water hurting their eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Jessica asks. 

“Of course, I am. Why shouldn’t I?” 

Clay appears then by Justin’s other side, patting his arm. “You OK?” 

“Yes, I am. Why do you keep asking me that?” 

“Because of that. . . Bong,” says Jessica, pointing at the woods, and the cabin’s general direction. She has absolutely no doubt in her mind that all the football players must be high already. 

“Come on,” scoffs Justin. “Yes, I’m a recovering addict, but it’s not that bad. I don’t go crazy at the mere sight of blood, you know. I’m fine.” 

“Glad to hear it,” approves Clay, who’s breathing a little bit better, now. 

A bit shaken, too, Justin has to swallow a knot deep in his throat at seeing that Jessica and Clay really worried about him upon that stupid bong Harrison took out. He insists that he’s alright and just tries to move on by kicking some of the stones at his feet, sending a couple of them flying off onto the lake. 

“Harrison’s still an asshole,” Clay says then. “The whole bunch of them are.” 

“Amen,” Jessica agrees. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” says Alex behind them, “but what the fuck happened back there?” 

“Only two overly protective people exaggerating an addiction,” Justin says, sending a fond look over to Clay and Jessica. The first blushes a little bit upon their over the top reaction, the latter simply scoffs and crosses her arms--she still believes that stupid Harrison knew what he was doing and did it anyway to hurt Justin. 

“Right. Give us a warning next time,” scowls Alex. 

“Will do,” chuckles Justin, hoping there won’t be a next time in the near future. Although, deep down, knowing how scared and concerned Jessica and Clay are for him, how supportive they want to be about his recovery, he knows there is, in fact, going to be another time sooner rather than later. 

“Hey, look at those!” Jessica says then, pointing at several boats lying around some feet from them. She runs over them, checking that there’re paddles to spare, as well, and turns around holding one paddle over her shoulder. “Anyone else in the mood to go rowing?” 

“No, thanks,” says Tyler. “I’ll meet you back at the camp.” 

“I think I’ve had more than enough excitement for today,” agrees Clay. 

“Just saying, these aren’t exactly state-of-the-art boats, Jess,” Zach points out, checking one of the boats. “Look, this one has got a few holes, here, here, and here. Rowing, I’d fancy. Drowning? Not so much.” 

“I stand my point,” says Clay, taking one step backward to prove he will not go out on the lake on any of those worn-out boats. 

“Come on, who’s being a pussy now?” Jessica dares them all. 

In the end, Alex, Zach, Jessica, and Justin decide to go rowing, whereas Clay, Tony, and Tyler decide to go back to camp. They take a detour to avoid the football team’s cabin and they’re relieved to see their absence hasn’t been noticed by fellow students or any adults--and they’re not questioned about what they’d been up to or the whereabouts of their friends, either. They scatter around and each stays in their tent until dinner. 

Trying to get some reading done inside his tent, Clay soon realizes solitude isn’t solving anything, and that his anxiety only grows worse when he’s alone. The gang has tried to be supportive through it all, even though they look at him as if they thought he might go crazy at any minute, losing it completely. And the thing is, he’s not sure it gets better when he’s surrounded by people. When the other students--teachers, adults--are watching him, seeing him, and he can see that they see it, it only makes it a thousand times worse. At times, he feels lost. And alone. 

Dr. Eldman’s advice, about going into his anxiety, look into it instead of running from it, isn’t working. It seems like the worse possible piece of advice Clay’s ever heard. The mere thought of diving into the fear instead of stopping it. . . Is terrifying. 

It gets a little bit better when Justin and the rest return, Alex soaking wet for some strange reason. Their mom doesn’t make matters easier exactly when after dinner, comes the “senior share” campfire, where she pulls out that horrible Liberty High book and throws questions around--what’re some of their deepest regrets, who do they trust most in life, and so on. They sound like questions chosen specifically to make them all uneasy, to make them all rat on each other. 

Of course, Clay doesn’t get the luxury of enjoying a peaceful night--hasn’t had a dreamless night in so many fucking weeks, after all. He wakes up before sunrise and is sure he’ll never fall back asleep, so he just tosses around until the familiar sounds of Justin waking up just next to him helps Clay breathe again. 

“You had nightmares,” Justin informs Clay, worried tone. 

“When don’t I, lately?” he retorts, the foul mood so early in the day. The bags under his eyes should be a pretty good indicator that he didn’t get much sleep. “I’ll make coffee.” 

“Dude, you do realize no one can live on coffee forever without sleep, don’t you?” 

“Maybe I’ll make a scientific discovery one day,” Clay says, but Justin’s face tells him he didn’t appreciate his dark sense of humor, and he sighs. “Look, we knew the camping trip was going to be tough. I’ll sleep when this whole thing is over.” 

“You’re not planning on getting any sleep for the next three days straight?” 

“I’ve been through worse,” Clay promises, mirroring Dr. Eldman’s words in their last therapy session before the camping trip. However, he’s not too sure he believes him--he’s not too sure the therapy’s working at all. 

“Dude,” Justin insists. “Didn’t you talk it all with Dr. Eldman?” 

“Yeah,” nods Clay, biting his lower lip. “He suggested I should talk to a chaperone about the camping trip--overestimating again how helpful adults can be in these sorts of situations.” 

“Still, maybe you should. . .” 

“I’m going to get some coffee.” 

Clay leaves their tent and kneels to grab the coffee pot, waving in greeting at some nearby students who had the same idea. Maybe everyone was right and he shouldn’t have come to the trip, maybe he’s not strong enough. But the idea of not coming, and having literally everyone know why he wasn’t on the trip, was too much. 

“Fuck,” Justin scowls inside their tent, making Clay return at once. He sees his brother rummaging his backpack, frenzied, looking for something that it seems he forgot. 

“What is it?” 

Defeated, Justin throws his backpack to the side. Head dropped, he sighs deeply, refusing to meet Clay’s eye as he repeats the question, a bit worried. 

“I think I forgot my meds,” he confesses after five seconds. “I know what you’re going to say and you can spare me the lesson about being a responsible adult who should be conscious of his condition and should remember to bring his medication on a trip--“

“Just shut up,” Clay orders, kneeling by his backpack. “No speeches today. Here.” 

Looking over his shoulder, Justin sees Clay holding the exact bottle pills he was supposed to take for the camping trip, but forgot--despite the number of times Clay reminded him of packing them. Chuckling under his breath, Justin takes the bottle, checking if the pills in there will last for the entire trip. Clay did go overboard on this one. 

“So you didn’t trust me, huh?” 

“Mistrust would have been asking Mom to bring extra pills,” Clay retorts. “I was just covering all of our bases, man. Now, come on, I think it’s time for us to figure out what ‘adventure’ our Mom prepared for today.” 

Today’s activity turns out to be a treasure hunt, where they’re supposed to surrender all of their phones, partner up, and hit the woods with a GPS device, a map, and a clue sheet. No one seems too thrilled about it, less alone Clay or Justin, but at the very least it’ll give them some time away from Lainie’s worried eyes and everyone’s talking behind Clay’s back. And, most especially, from the football team’s so-called pranks. 

Justin takes charge of the GPS and leads the way. Soon enough, each two-student group has left in different directions and they’re all alone in the woods. Not that such a fact soothes Clay, he keeps looking over his shoulder time and time again--not exactly looking for the clues on their sheet. 

“Maybe that second cup of coffee was too much for you, dude,” Justin mutters under his breath. “You’re a little. . . Jumpy.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t really like what Deputy Standall said about wildlife, either.” 

“We’ll be fine!” Justin laughs. “Just remember: if we do encounter some wildlife, just remain calm and--”

“And back slowly away,” Clay finishes for him, tired voice. “Not sure it’s going to be enough if we encounter wolves or bears out here.” 

“Dude, you know way more than I do about geography and fauna, but I’d bet my hand there are no bears in Burnham Woods,” Justin tries to soothe his worries. 

“Do you know how to operate that?” Clay demands, pointing at the GPS, although he’s only trying to find any other subject of conversation that’ll kill the time. “Because, as it so happens, I do.” 

“Look, I just think it’s best if we do this totally together,” says Justin. “And if I’m not mistaken, our canvas bag should be right. . . Here.” 

His eyes still glued to the GPS device, he comes to a halt. Clay, who wasn’t really listening or following the clues sheet, either, almost bumps against Justin’s back, although manages to divert direction just in time. 

“There’s. . . Nothing here,” he says, looking around. 

“I can see that,” says Justin, turning in circles to check the area--but there’s nothing out of the ordinary in the woods, much less, a canvas with an alleged treasure inside. “That’s weird, this is supposed to be the place. . .” 

“Give me that,” demands Clay. 

Shrugging, Justin delivers the GPS device and the clue sheet. However, after checking the coordinates twice, he realizes Justin didn’t mess up on their little trip, nor had gotten them lost. In theory, they’re standing at the right spot. But there’s no canvas bag. And there were supposed to be enough bags for each team--unless someone screwed up the clue sheets and another group took their ‘treasure’ before they got to it. 

“I don’t understand,” Clay confesses. 

“Think they gave us the wrong clues?” 

“Mom? She definitely could have screwed the clues up,” nods Clay, without looking up from the paper, yet. “Deputy Standall, I don’t think so.” 

“You think someone tampered with the clues?” 

Without an answer to give him, because that possibility is too daunting and terrifying to consider, whatever Dr. Eldman says, Clay shrugs. He throws the GPS device back at Justin and crumples the clues sheet--seems they don’t need it, anymore. 

“Screw this,” he scowls. 

“Back to camp?” Justin suggests. 

“Lead the way, please,” begs Clay, pointing at the GPS device he’s still holding--he got them to the canvas bags location easily enough, he’ll find the way back to the main camp, as well. 

They start walking down the path, too comfortable with each other’s company to feel the need to fill the silence. Although there’s so much they could be discussing—the football team, whoever’s trying to make them confess about Monty and Bryce, Jessica, Ani, their parents, prom, College, the HROs at Liberty, and a very long so on—they find out at that moment they cannot bring themselves to talk it out, right now. They’re both tired of problems and struggles, of discussions, of police investigations, of schemes. 

At that moment, in that forest, away from the football players, having the support of the other members of the gang. . . Yeah, they think they might have found the first moment of peace in a very, long time. 

Of course, they should have realized that peace and quiet are only momentary feelings in their world. 

_“Fuck!”_ scowls Clay behind Justin’s back. 

“What is it?” Justin demands immediately, turning around. Clay’s nowhere to be found, however, there is a sort of chasm on the side, and Clay’s grunts and yells for help do come from down there. “Clay? What on Earth--?” 

“Careful!” Clay shrieks. “There’s a ravine here.” 

“Yeah, I see it, dude. I’ve got two eyes,” scowls Justin. 

Approaching carefully as to avoid a second stupid, clumsy accident on a row, Justin drops on his stomach and crawls up to the side of the chasm--or ravine, as Clay, more accurately, called it. From where he stands, he just manages to get a glimpse of Clay down there, in the semidarkness, a frustrated look on his face. He’s too far away for Justin to reach him and pull him up. If he tries, they’ll both fall down there. 

Currently, Clay’s examining the rocky walls around him, trying to find any holes he can hold onto and climb up. Bad luck seems to follow him wherever he goes, for Clay slips and he falls down on the ground again, hard. 

“You injured?” Justin shrieks. 

“Nah, I’m fine!” Clay says, standing, although he’s holding his arm in a funny way. “But it’s too steep, I don’t think I can climb up on my own.” 

Hell of an idea to give up our cell phones, scowls Justin. He can stay here and yell his lungs out if he wants to, it might take some time till someone hears them. The best and safest way to call for help is to go back to the main camp. 

“Okay, don’t panic.” 

“ _I’m not panicking!”_ Clay scowls. 

“I’ll come back with help!” Justin says. He knows, however, that Clay’s thin patience isn’t going to let him wait calmly, so he’ll need to hurry before Clay truly hurts himself. “Just stay there.” 

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Justin scowls under his breath and looks around, wishing they’d brought up a backpack with some supplies--this was supposed to be an easy hike, after all. 

“Wish I had some water or food to give you, man.” 

“Are you planning on leaving me here for two days?” 

“Of course, not!” Justin scowls. 

“Then I’ll be fine without water or food. Just go!” Clay instructs. 

At that order, Justin stands, wiping the dirt off his clothes. Checking on Clay once more before leaving him, he promises to be right back with help--and lots of ropes, as well. 

Justin makes his way back as fast a person as possible while running as carefully as he can through a path and a terrain he doesn’t know at all. It musn’t have taken him more than twenty minutes and, for that reason, when he reaches the camp, he needs to rest against one of the wooden tables to catch his breath. Deputy Standall approaches with a canteen to greet him back, without noticing, just yet, Clay’s absence. 

“Welcome! Come and join the others, come on,” he says, pointing at some of the groups who have already found their way back to the camp--including Tony’s, incidentally. No one mentions anything about the clues being tampered with, although that’s not Justin’s priority here, now. 

“I need help,” Justin begs. “It’s. . . It’s Clay.” 

“What happened?” Lainie shrieks. 

“He fell through a crack. . . A ravine, he called it. He’s uninjured,” Justin promises hastily before Lainie thinks the worst possibilities. 

Less than two minutes later, he’s explained the whole situation to the Deputy and to Lainie, plus all the students within earshot who bothered to listen. Standall immediately picks up some rope and a first-aid kid and orders Justin to lead the way. Tony joins them, as well as Lainie, even though one adult should have stayed behind to chaperone the kids who returned back to camp. 

Even without using that damned GPS, Justin finds the right spot without trouble. As soon as they reach the ravine, the Deputy ties the rope to a tree, whereas Justin and Lainie peer through the crack, leaning on their stomachs, to be on the safe side. Justin sighs of relief at seeing Clay uninjured--he wasn’t too sure if he could wait for help or he’d crack his head open trying to get out of there. 

“Clay!” Lainie shrieks. 

“Mom, don’t freak out, I’m fine,” Clay begs, a tortured expression on his face. 

“Son, this is Deputy Standall,” Bill says, powerful voice, taking charge of the rescue operation. He leans against his knee to look down at Clay and make sure he can hear what he says. “We’re going to throw some rope to you, okay?” 

“Okay, I’m waiting,” nods Clay. At his approval, Deputy Standall throws the rope, and luckily enough they estimated abundantly: there’s plenty of rope left to reach Clay at a much lower latitude if necessary. 

“Now, tie the rope around your waist--just as a precaution. Whenever you’re ready, climb up. Take it nice and easy, there’s no hurry. And, in case you don’t feel like you can make it, just say the word and I’ll go down there, okay?” 

“That’s alright, I can make it!” Clay promises, following the Deputy’s instructions. 

It takes him some long minutes of struggling and cursing, and one bad move that almost sends Clay down on the ground again, but in the end, he manages to emerge from that damned ravine. Lainie hugs Clay tightly as Justin and Tony congratulate him on a job well done and the Deputy unties the rope from his waist and the tree. 

“No bleeding? No concussions?” the Deputy asks. 

Despite Clay’s promises, he does a quick check-up, concluding that Clay’s alright, apart from an aching to the side. Knowing his brother, Justin knows for a fact Clay’s downsizing the pain too much in front of their mother and Tony. Tomorrow he’s going to regret not going to the hospital, and a particularly nasty-looking bruise might appear in the following days. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, son?” 

“Yes, Mom, I keep telling you. No need to call 9-1-1 over this.” 

“If you’re sure. . .” 

“I am. Totally. Positive,” Clay insists. 

Justin rests a hand around Clay’s shoulders, unsure if he should press the matter more, or if he should just keep quiet and allow Lainie to believe the lies Clay’s feeding her. He sees the look on Deputy Standall and realizes no one’s quite buying Clay’s lies. The good news is, the two responsible adults in the camping trip know Clay was injured, so if it came to it, they could drag his ass back to town and to the hospital. He feels a little bit more relaxed knowing so. 

“Okay, back to camp, now,” the Deputy orders after a few minutes, breaking a family feud that could linger for hours on end. He and Lainie lead the way, letting the three teenagers fall behind. 

“I’m fine,” Clay insists upon Tony’s and Justin’s distressed looks. 

“Let’s just hope the rest of the trip is a little bit less eventful,” sighs Tony. 

“I fucking hope so,” nods Clay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the feedback I got on ch. 15 regarding Justin and Jessica's relationship, I understood the writers' reasons for splitting them up after rehab, I decided to include it as well in my work, so thank you for breaking it up for me ! 
> 
> Hoping you liked the chapter :D


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fix-it of the shooting drill from episode 4x06.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got a little bit out of hand and is much longer than I'd planned for, but hope you like it nonetheless !
> 
> To be clear, the events of the shooting drill are exactly the same than in the show, but not the consequences from the drill, because, A) I wanted to show a more united and supportive gang, and B) I'm surprised that Clay's nervous breakdown and hospitalization wouldn't have a much bigger impact and reaction amongst his friends and the student population. 
> 
> So, basically, this chapter mixes up episodes 6 and 9 from season 4, which I think would make more sense. . .? I hope it does anyway !!

Walking through empty corridors, eerily quiet at this time of day, Clay forces himself to keep going forward. He only knows one thing for sure: there is a shooter in the school and, whether he knows who it is or he does not, it’s his responsibility to find them and try to help them--before they end up dead with a bullet between their eyes.

_Femoral bleed, hearts burst by bullets, skulls shattered. . ._

The words from Bryce’s and Monty’s hallucinations still ring in his ears, making it really hard for Clay to focus on spotting any actual threats, either first-responders or the shooter. He walks past classroom by classroom, staying far away from doors and windows to spare the poor kids inside another heart attack like the ones Clay suffered back there.

He feels their pain, their unbearable fear, their paralyzing terror. He can only imagine how many staff members and students are holed up in each of those rooms, behind barricaded doors, praying to God the tables and chairs and backpacks they’d piled up would be heavy enough to stop, or maybe stall, the shooter until the police arrive.

_You’re Clay Jensen. You’re Liberty High’s hero. You’ve stared down the barrel once already._

He’s _not_ a hero. He’s scared out of his mind, shivering all over, cold sweat dripping down his back. He wishes it was all over. During his time at Liberty, four kids have already died. Isn’t that more than enough? Haven’t they already reached and gone miles beyond some kind of abnormal high school student deaths by population ratio? How many more students aren’t going to survive the hellish experience that is high school in this fucking city?

_If you die today, is your conscience clear?_

“I am not going to die today,” Clay utters under his breath, taking another corner.

No one can say that and know.

“If there’s someone who needs to be saved, then I’m going to try and save them. And if this is the day that I die, then I die standing up.”

Stopping to catch his breath, he looks around. To his right, there’s the front entrance, with that horrifying metal detector arc that was supposed to keep them safe and yet, has done nothing but. The sunlight filtering through the windows is almost too compelling. If he closes his eyes, Clay can almost taste and smell the fresh air, the freedom, the safety of the outdoors.

Of course, he didn’t leave that freaking classroom to just make it out of school alive. He can do more staying inside of here--helplessness is the worst feeling in the world. Being safe out on the street would actually be worse than stuck in that barricaded classroom, sitting there on the floor, panicking, with Bryce’s and Mony’s hallucinations for company, while death was literally on the other side of the door.

No. He’s on a mission and he will see it to the end. With that in mind, he takes another step forward, trying to push away Dr. Eldman’s last therapy session--are certain people beyond help?

_“Clay!”_

That yell makes him jump out of his skin. He thinks he recognized the voice, but of course, the shooter could be someone he knows, too--hopefully, it won’t be Ty. He refuses to believe Tyler would snap again without no one noticing, or worse, without him telling anyone and asking for help. No, if this is a student, it certainly isn’t Tyler.

“Clay!” He turns around then, locating the source of the voice. It’s Principal Bolan, snapping his fingers to summon him into his office.

“Get in here,” Bolan orders. “Get in here!”

Gasping for air, barely able to calm his racing heart, Clay obliges and runs to the main office. At that point, Bolan literally grabs Clay by the collar and drags him inside, pushing him on the couch so he stays out of the line of fire, and locks the office’s door behind him. A bit desperate, he places a chair closer to the couch, deaf to Clay’s demands to know if it was a goddamn drill or not.

“What were you doing in that hallway? Didn’t you hear the gunshots?”

“I thought it was a drill!” Clay shrieks.

“Why did you leave your classroom?”

“I thought it was a drill!” Clay repeats, scared out of his mind.

“Goddammit, Clay. This was a hard lockdown. There were first responders on the scene with guns drawn. _You thought this was a drill?”_

They’re not listening to each other and they’re not answering each other’s questions, either, which does not help Clay calm down, at all. He jumps again when there’s a banging from behind--who appears to be a SWAT officer gives Bolan the thumbs-up and he waves in response. At that, the officer leaves the adjacent room, leaving Clay with even more questions.

“Wait--“ he begs, his breathing spiking even more.

“Clay, you are not going to die,” Bolan tries to explain, calm and low voice. The small smile he addresses Clay is not at all reassuring. “The bullets were blanks. The officers tried the doors. The alarms were to make sure students and teachers followed protocols, and the only one who didn’t was you.”

* * *

“If this is the last day of my life, I want to spend it with you.”

Upon that statement, Jessica pulls Justin in for a kiss, confirming without words that he is, too, the person Jessica would like to spend her last hours on Earth with. Just as their lips part, the PA beeps and Bolan’s voice raises across the school.

“This lockdown is all clear. I repeat, the lockdown is all clear. An announcement will be made shortly to provide staff and students. . .”

Although Bolan is saying the words every last student at Liberty has been praying to stay alive long enough to hear, at that moment, Jessica and Justin feel no hurry at all. Lost in each other’s eyes, the announcement soon loses all meaning and they know they could stay at the HO’s headquarters for a few hours more.

Outside, however, the rattle of students starts to raise, and then the need to check in on their friends grows. Jessica’s the first one to stand, reaching a hand for Justin to follow her. She stops at the doorstep, while they’re still away from any prying eyes, and pulls Justin as close as possible.

“You truly _are_ crazy, Justin Foley,” she says with a chuckle. In spite of it, a few lingering tears cross her face, and Justin leans to kiss them away. “I could have killed you.”

“It’d have been worth it.”

Jessica picks up her backpack and, hand in hand, they leave the HO headquarters. Their smiles crash against the pure terror and shock from all the students they meet, who reluctantly and slowly leave the classrooms they’d barricaded themselves in, but why should they feel wrong for feeling good? They’re alive. They’ve survived this fucking shooting, when there’s a really high chance others didn’t.

They follow all the students, who head for the main entrance. Amongst the crowd, they see Tony, Alex, and Charlie, three people they can strike off their mental list of students and friends they need to check upon. However, Justin’s heart skips a beat when he remembers Tony told him that Tyler was missing.

There’s a big commotion up ahead, they realize then. Even though the lockdown is done, someone seems to be having some sort of heavy argument, their voices raised, on the edge of panic.

 _Here it comes,_ Justin and Jessica fear, sharing one worried look. The terrifying aftermaths of the shooting. What the fuck has happened? What’s the death toll? The fact that such questions are as valid a query as any Maths exam is truly worrisome and should say something about the sort of education they’re getting at Liberty. As a matter of fact, that seems to be the main issue amongst however’s fighting with Bolan.

“Let’s go,” says Jessica, grabbing Justin’s hand. Their work is not done. They survived, but maybe other people didn’t. Henceforth, it’s time for them to help other students in need.

* * *

_“What the fuck?”_ Clay shrieks, leaving Bolan’s office. “What _the actual fuck_ are you thinking?”

He’s just seen the Principal thanking the first-responders and SWAT officers for their work and their expertise today at Liberty. . . It wasn’t difficult coming to the conclusion that this whole nightmare was a fucking drill, after all. A fucking exercise designed to make them all lose their minds.

“Clay, why don’t we go back to my office and talk?” Bolan suggests, trying to get him out of the public eye--because he understands. He knows how badly he screwed up. He knew it and he still went ahead with it.

“No, I will not!” Clay replies. There’s no explanation or justification for what the Principal and Foundry has just put them all through. They can’t possibly understand what the student population has been through with that fucking drill. “You think that this is the way to make us safe? Huh?”

“Clay--”

“You know what would make me feel safe? Not having to go to a school with metal detectors or video cameras or armed fucking guards!” he keeps going, unable to control his voice, and he doesn’t care. Let all of Liberty hear him, let the whole fucking world hear him, because damn it, someone _must_ start listening.

Students are gathering around, as a matter of fact, and Bolan is starting to feel uncomfortable under everyone’s stares. So, he tries to impose reason again, compel the students to get back to class, arguing the bell has not rung yet--but it’s such a stupid order, no one moves or bats an eye.

“No, you’re killing us!” shrieks Clay, unable to stop now.

The fright and anger are coming out of his system whether he--or principal Bolan--wants it to, and he refuses to be the quiet, silent, law-abiding, kid anymore. Someone needs to speak up. Something needs to change, right about now. A small circle has formed around him, principal Bolan, and the police officers, and he barely registers there’re some students with their phones raised, recording him.

“Don’t you get that?” he complains, pointing an accusatory finger at Bolan. “You made a drill with gunshots and hammered down the doors to prepare us for what, exactly? For what it feels like to be hunted? To practice getting ready to die, to make us feel afraid for our lives? We already know how that feels! You’re scaring us to death! _Every day!_ Every fucking day!!”

One of the police officers steps forward and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, son.”

Clay shrugs his hand off instantly, turning around with rage in his eyes.

“I am not your goddamn son. And stay the fuck away from me!” he orders, just before he faces Principal Bolan again. “We are children! _We’re kids!_ We should be living our fucking lives instead of practicing how to cheat death, because you know what, everybody fucking dies! Everybody dies!

“So please, _please,_ let us live!”

* * *

Finding no opposition or complaints on their way through the corridor, Justin and Jessica slither through the crowd, sorting students and mobile phones. But then, when they finally reach the people who are arguing, they freeze too, just like everyone else.

“That’s. . .” Jessica stutters, looking sideways at Justin.

“Clay,” he finishes the sentence for her, barely able to breathe. At the end of the corridor, however, he catches Tyler, wrapped in a weighted panic attack blanket. Justin breathes just a little bit easier now that he knows he wasn’t the shooter this time around and that they didn’t fail him twice on a row. But it seems that they _all_ failed to help someone else: his brother.

“Jesus fucking Christ. They broke Clay,” Jessica whispers, shocked to the core.

“Can you blame him, though?” Justin retorts, sullen tone, scared that Clay is going to need help to recover from this one. Dr. Eldman’s session barely seems to have scratched the surface, here.

The actor in question is pacing in desperation around the circle the students formed, yelling a monologue worthy of Shakespeare himself at Bolan and the police officers. The subject at hand concerns how much they managed to scare every last student at Liberty. . . With that goddamn drill.

“Wait. It was a fucking drill?”

Jessica shrugs, unable to give him a proper answer, either. Just like every other student, she’s too caught up with Clay’s speech, and the more than justified complaints he addresses the Principal.

“So please, _please,_ let us live!”

At that point, one of the officers steps closer to Clay, and Justin, instinctively, does so, too, without knowing what the officer’s intentions truly are. Although Jessica grabs his arm and forces Justin to stand back.

“That’s enough, son,” the police officer says.

Clay tries to shrug off the police’s hands and pushes him on the chest, in a very wrong and inadequate move no one sees ending well. As if on cue, the police officer and Clay start to struggle, much to the shock of every spectator, student or teacher or police officer. . . And then Clay raises the officer’s gun in the air.

“Am I safer now?!”

Shrieks raise again, some students running away, others dropping to the ground, as all the remaining police officers raise their weapons at Clay, now.

“Tell me Clay didn’t just steal a loaded gun from a police officer?” Jessica begs, openly scared now, but Justin’s long gone from her side. She finds him standing shoulder to shoulder to Principal Bolan, trying to calm Clay down at the same time as they attempt to reason the too trigger-happy officers not to shoot at Clay.

He doesn’t make things easier for anyone to actually deescalate the situation, though.

“I’ve got your gun! Am I safer now?” he shrieks.

Without giving negotiation a real fucking chance, one of the officers tackles Clay on the ground, hard, probably giving him a concussion in the process, too. Judging by Clay’s response, it was the worst fucking move, anyone, students, Bolan, or police officers, could have made: his anxiety gets a hundred times worse, he uselessly struggles as much as he can in the arms of the police officer, and he starts yelling a mantra at the top of his lungs, his face red.

“Get off of me! _Get off of me!”_

Clay’s desperate pleas send shivers down Justin’s spine. He’s frozen on the spot, out of breath, for all of five seconds--after that, his body moves on his own accord, probably without thinking of the consequences. He cannot stand watching his brother being pinned on the ground against his will by a police officer completely oblivious to the panic attack Clay’s suffering at the moment.

“He’s my fucking brother, you asshole!” he yells.

Behind him, shrieks raise, including a very clear plea from Jessica begging him not to do anything rash or irrational, what with the police officers carrying loaded guns and all. More than what he hears, however, Justin appreciates what he sees: where many students are running for their lives, trying to get to safety, he catches Tony, Alex, Charlie, Cyrus, all moving forward, too. Heck, even Tyler drops his blanket and seems to be in two minds about following Justin. Zach, injured and all, has to be stopped by Jessica herself.

“Everyone, calm down!” Principal Bolan tries to settle the students, to no avail.

Justin goes straight towards the officer who still has Clay pinned down on the ground, but another policeman intervenes, pushing him on the ground. Justin struggles to kick him and break free, when another student tackles the police officer in turn--that’s Maria, they’ve got third-period Geography together, Justin realizes as she helps the girl back to her feet.

At that moment, he sees that he and Clay’s closest friends are not standing alone against the police officers. Although some students run off in the opposite direction, others show the exact opposite reaction—they want in. Clay’s panic attack being only the straw to break the camel’s back. All the invasion of privacy and new security measures, the SRO officers, the surveillance cameras, the constant vigilance, being interrogated by Foundry and, last but not least, that fucking shooting drill that terrorized them all. . . It’s too much to bear a minute longer and dozens of other students follow Justin and the gang.

Within minutes, the halls become the sort of pitched battle that Bolan wanted to put an end to and that Foundry’s, the first-responders’, and the SRO officers’ presence were supposed to stop from happening.

* * *

As quickly as the tumultuous fight started, it also ended abruptly. Justin can’t pinpoint how or when it stopped exactly. He just knows that when an ambulance parked in front of the school, the siren blaring and deafening, he stopped fighting officers in order to let the paramedics come through.

They head straight to Clay, who’s still pinned down on the ground, seemingly unaware of his surroundings and the fight that had followed his panic attack. Unable to move, unable to struggle, unable to say a word, or react at all, Clay lies there as the paramedics tie him to a gurney to escort him out of the school.

All around him, students and police officers await. The sudden calmness is awkward and eerie, ragged and heavy breathings after the abnormal exercise. Some of the students show signs of the fighting already in the form of bleeding cuts on their hands and faces--and bruises to form in the next few hours.

This silence isn’t the serenity and retrospect period one would expect after such big a fight as the one they’ve been through. It’s more like the calm before the storm. Or, perhaps, the second storm on a row. Although, to be honest, it’d be more appropriate to call it a freaking hurricane.

Reading the room, reading the looks on all his friends and classmates, Justin finds himself conflicted. It feels like he should stay and give a hand out in whatever’s coming. Protect his friends, protect Jessica.

On the other hand, Clay is currently tied to a gurney, high on whatever meds they gave him, and being carried away by paramedics. Feels wrong leaving him alone at this moment. Whatever happens at Liberty next, _he_ started it. He set it all in motion by speaking the truth Bolan needed to hear. And he’s his fucking brother, officially or not.

“Go with him,” Jessica says in a whisper--albeit words travel easily, right now. Justin swears they could hear the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in here.

“He needs you,” Tyler says before Justin tries to argue.

“He shouldn’t be alone in a hospital, that’s fucking depressing,” agrees Alex.

“But you--” Justin attempts to argue nonetheless. He sees the expressions on all their faces, the rage, the fire. They’re all looking straight at Bolan and the police officers in what Justin read as straight-out dares. Yes, Justin’s gut was right: this short period of peace was just an interlude before the next shitstorm.

“Clay probably needs you more than we do,” nods Tony.

“Hey, if we could, we’d all go to the hospital with you,” Zach explains. “Seems like there’s work left to do around here, so you go ahead, and stay with him. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Yeah, man. We can’t sit idly by when one of our own is down,” nods Cyrus.

Justin takes a good look around, realizing that most students who are waiting across the halls and the school entrance, standing with heads high and shoulders back, would agree with his friends’ assessment. Something is brewing. They’re just waiting for the starting signal to unleash Hell.

With a sharp intake of breath, Justin can’t help but ask the question he knows no one’s got a good answer for, “What’s going to happen here?”

“A conversation that’s long overdue, I believe,” says Jessica, crossing her arms, a little smug smile on her lips. Justin’s simply too afraid to press for a more specific answer and, thankfully, Jessica spares him. “Go with Clay, Justin. We’ll call you if we need you.”

“Be careful,” he whispers.

Jessica nods without really looking at him and Justin slips away, running through the crowd of students to leave Liberty. He runs after the paramedics, who are already pushing Clay’s gurney inside the ambulance.

“Hey, hold on! I’m coming with you. He’s my brother. . .”

“You better call your parents, then,” one of the paramedics says, holding the door open for him.

That’s exactly what Justin’s trying to do, his phone up against his ear as he finds a seat on the ambulance. He shivers at the sight in front of him. Clay’s mumbling something unintelligible, a drool of saliva dripping down his mouth without no one giving two shits about it. While he waits for Matt to pick up, Justin takes a napkin and wipes the saliva off Clay’s chin.

“I’m here. It’s going to be alright,” he whispers.

Clay doesn’t react to his promises--not even his eyes move towards the sound of his voice, or to Justin holding his hand tight. Justin doesn’t like any of it one bit, his heart in a fist. And then, Matt answers.

* * *

After the paramedics take Clay outside of Liberty and Justin runs after his brother, the students gather around again, forming a circle in front of Bolan--Jessica upfront, with Zach, Alex, Tyler, and Tony covering her bases, although there’s the whole student population backing them up.

They face Bolan and demand answers. Answers for the surveillance cameras, for the SRO officers roaming the whole school, for the fucking shooting drill. . . In short, they demand answers for every fucking decision Bolan took from the beginning of the semester. They should have done so ages ago, they realize now. They never should have accepted this new system in the first place.

Bolan isn’t having any of it, however.

Demanding answers for the cameras, the metal detectors, the drill. . . In one word, for every single fucking decision Bolan took from the beginning of the semester.

“The situation will be addressed,” he says, raising his voice so every one closeby shot hears him. “Let’s get back to class, please.”

None of the students move a single muscle. The astonishment and outrage clear in everyone’s eyes. Is Bolan out of his mind? How can they keep business as usual and go back to class--the same boring, old, shit like Maths, Geography, Literature--after that fucking drill has left them all scarred and terrified?

“No!” scowls Jessica. “No way.”

“Do not make matters worse,” warns Principal Bolan.

“We are not fucking going back to class,” scowls Alex.

“I promise you we will get into this,” Bolan tries to reason, tired tone; he’s had way too many arguments with parents and students in the past few days--heck, he’s faced one too many students in the past hour. “The first-responder who attacked Mr. Jensen will be disciplined if appropriate and we will address the situation according to. . .“

Murmurs rise in disagreement, showing the students’ disbelief upon the possible, or rather implausible, a disciplinary sanction that the officer will face.

“Fuck that! Enough is enough!” Jessica yells.

“Fucking right!” Diego agrees.

“Alright, I understand your point without all the inappropriate language,” says Bolan, a little bit irritated now.

“Fuck you, motherfucker,” scowls Zach, getting some murmurs of shock and appreciation from his fellow classmates.

“We’re together on this,” adds Charlie.

“Everyone get back to class right now,” orders Bolan, raising his voice and turning around to prove he does mean everyone, “or there will be consequences.”

“Bring it on,” Jessica dares him, arms crossed. “We’re not afraid.”

“We’re finally doing something,” agrees Zach.

“And what exactly are you doing?” demands Principal Bolan.

All eyes turn to Jessica. She’s been speaking for the whole student population for years, now, and if any real action is going to happen around here today, it’s clear as day it’s up to her to initiate it.

The girl looks at a loss for some long seconds, a little bit afraid of being way over her head in here--had not planned for any of this, after all. Despite having almost the entire gang there with her, she misses Justin’s support, Clay’s bravery and outspokenness, to let her know whatever she does, is right. But if they’re not here by her side is because of Bolan and his new policies and something needs to be done about it. Doesn’t matter what, he just needs a wake-up call.

She flashes a bigger, smug grin, an idea forming in her mind. She picks up her backpack and turns around, towards the school entrance. The crowd breaks for her, letting her lead the way, and, her back to principal Bolan’s, she sighs out of relief when she hears the students praising her choice. Having Alex, Zach, Tony, Charlie, heck, even Diego there with her makes all the difference.

As per Bolan, he cannot find his voice or his authority anymore. He stutters for some seconds and, by the time he tries to order Jessica to turn around and come back, dozens of students are already following Jessica out of the building.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” he yells, nothing more than a rhetorical question. He still gets an unwanted answer from one of his students.

“I believe this is a walk-out, sir,” Tyler explains.

“Thank you, Mr. Down,” Bolan sighs deeply, watching in despair how every last student marches out of Liberty High School without him being able to stop them or talk them out of whatever else Miss Davis has got planned.

The students start gathering outside of Liberty, a rattle of excitement and nervousness filling the atmosphere at what has just happened. It was true: the shooting drill, Clay’s panic attack, it was a game-changer. They don’t know yet how much things will change around here, what they’ll achieve with this protest, but at least, as Zach pointed out, they’re doing _something,_ now. Back when the first security measures were implemented, no one complained because they didn’t know how to act. Back then, they failed to realize that without students, the system just doesn’t work and becomes utterly useless for one and all--simply a waste of money to the county.

* * *

Clay wakes up with a terrible headache and the horrible feeling that something terrible has happened. For one, the straps on his ankles and wrists confirm that he’s in deep fucking trouble--the memories take a little bit more to come. The drill, the argument with Bolan, the incredibly stupid move of stealing a loaded gun. He’s so stunned by the medications that he can hardly feel the pain or the embarrassment from all those events, feelings he knows he should be having.

The neon lights hurt his eyes, making him nauseous, and he turns his head to the side trying to avoid them. It is then when he sees familiar faces out there in the hallway. He can barely distinguish his parents’ and Justin’s silhouettes outside, talking to a doctor. After two seconds, he makes out Dr. Eldman’s voice.

“I think it’s not a bad idea that we continue observation over a period of time,” he’s saying right now. “The drill was incredibly stressful, and not just for Clay.”

Unable to listen to it anymore, Clay turns his head again and closes his eyes, pretending he’s still sound asleep. His theatrics aren’t too good, because a few seconds later, he hears footsteps approaching—only one step. Justin, then.

“Hey,” Justin greets him, forcing Clay to open his eyes again. He sees such genuine worry in Justin’s features that he almost believes it. “How do you feel?”

Clay, unshed tears in his eyes, cannot come up with an appropriate answer. He’s tied up to a gurney, for Pete’s sake.

“They’re going to keep me here, aren’t they?” he assumes.

“Yeah. I was arguing about it with our folks,” says Justin, pointing with his head at their parents outside. His voice breaking a little bit proves the lengths he’s just gone to in an attempt to stop Matt and Lainie from admitting him into the psych ward again. “I was. . . I was yelling about it a minute ago.”

“So, I guess. . . Congrats,” whispers Clay, unable to look at Justin in the eye. “You are full-on the good son.”

“Dude, come on, man,” scowls Justin. “I am so not. See?”

Upon Justin’s vehemence, Clay looks back at him, to see the signs he should have been able to detect the moment Justin walked into the room. It seems he’s gotten into a fight recently, what with a deep cut on his forehead and the unmistakable signs on his cheek and chin that he took a few punches on the face.

“What the hell happened to you?” he scowls. How long was he out cold with the meds the paramedics gave him? How on Earth did Justin get in so much trouble during this short period of time?

He chuckles, a little bit embarrassed, too. He sends a hand up to his cheek to gently assess the sore area, knowing there’ll be bruises in the morning.

“I got into a fight with a police officer. The first-responder who tackled you, incidentally.”

At that, Clay remains quiet, waiting for a few seconds for the punch line. Since none comes, he realizes Justin said nothing but the truth, and it only manages to freak him out even so more.

“I really don’t know who’s crazier between us.”

“I told you,” Justin winks at him, relieved to see the tiniest of smiles on Clay’s face. It vanishes soon enough, however—hard to forget the reason why there’s a bed with his name on it at the mental institution.

“You know, I’m not crazy,” he confesses in a whisper. “I’m just scared.”

“Yeah, man. I am too,” agrees Justin, seeing how much it all pains Clay, and hating himself for being unable to help him more. “Do you want. . . D’you want me to stay with you today?”

“I’d rather not. I’m. . . Too embarrassed.”

“Don’t. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, not with me, you hear me?”

After wrapping up the conversation with Dr. Eldman, discussing Clay’s staying at the clinic without truly consulting him, Matt and Lainie walk into the room, as well, putting on fake smiles for Clay’s sake. Justin retreats to the side, without knowing what else to do or say, for he knows how much Clay abhors the idea of staying—he hates it probably as much as Clay does. He and his parents have helped him to insurmountable amounts through his addiction and HIV and he wishes he could now return the favor, but feels totally helpless, undescribably useless, and utter failure.

“Hey there, sunshine,” Matt greets, making Clay groan and close his eyes in denial.

“Dad, we talked about _sunshine.”_

“See, classic Clay. He’s fine,” Justin chuckles, seizing every single chance at his disposal to convince their folks that Clay would totally overcome this panic attack at home, with his friends and family. He already knows it’s a lost cause, however, and it pains him to admit so to himself.

“Listen, honey,” starts Lainie, bracing herself for a speech Clay already knows. “The doctors would feel more comfortable if they kept an eye on you for just a little while longer. OK?”

“OK, as in I get a vote?” he demands.

“We’ll get you out of here as soon as we can,” promises Matt.

The three of them fall silent and, given the circumstances, Lainie and Matt leave the room to check in with the doctors and figure out what else they should be doing. Justin walks up to the bed, although he seems concerned with something else altogether, judging the way he’s staring at his cell phone.

“I’m going to stay with you for a while, okay?”

“What’s going on?” demands Clay, pointing at the cell phone Justin hastily tries to hide from view, into his trouser’s pocket. “Something else happened at school?”

“Sort of. Don’t worry about it,” Justin tries to dismiss Clay’s concerns, but considering how much Justin is worried by whatever’s happening back at Liberty, Clay cannot simply drop the subject.

“Come on, man, ‘fess up,” he orders.

“Well, you. . . Your panic attack kind of sparked something back at Liberty. There’s been a walk-out and I think they’re rioting--under the hashtag, #HROs have got to go. I can’t really get through to Jessica and the others, they seem pretty occupied with the first-responders and all.”

“You should go,” Clay orders immediately, worried over their friends and classmates.

“No,” Justin refuses. “You need me more.”

“Need you for what? To watch me using a bedpan to pee?” Clay scowls. “No, you’ve done everything you could for me, and I love you for it. Now get your ass back to school--you’re more needed there, right now.”

Cell phone in hand, vibrating time and time again, Justin bites his lower lip. In two minds, he ponders Clay’s instructions.

“Go,” he insists. “Fuck Bolan and Foundry in my stead.”

“I can totally do that,” agrees Justin, a small, mischievous grin on his face. He kneels to pick up his backpack, feeling Clay’s stare on him the whole time.

“And Justin,” he calls him out then. “Be careful. By the looks of it, you already took a beating today. Let’s avoid the both of us being hospitalized on the same day, if only for our parents’ sake, okay?”

Justin nods once over his shoulder. “I promise I’ll try.”

* * *

Running through the hospital halls, checking the more and more distressing text messages he’s gotten, Justin ponders his means of getting back to Liberty--and, more accurately, his fastest means of getting back to Liberty. In the end, he resorts to directly asking Lainie and Matt, being just a little bit ambiguous about his reasons for returning to school after Clay’s nervous breakdown.

Thankfully, after receiving the call about Clay’s hospitalization, the two adults haven’t checked the news and have no idea what’s going on at Liberty and Lainie has no problem lending him her car keys.

The truth is, however, that Justin’s got no clue about what’s currently happening at Liberty, either. Just to be safe, he parks the vehicle one block from the School and runs the rest of the way. He freezes upon reaching the parking lot, a little bit shocked.

What seems to be the entire student population stands outside of the school, facing Bolan, Foundry. . . And two dozen police officers stand in front of them, between the students and the school. No fighting, for the time being, no chanting, either, but the tension could be split with a knife. Both teams seem to be measuring each other, assessing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Students against armed policemen--it sounds fucking ridiculous. No one was counting on how much the kids are royally pissed off.

It takes Justin .2 seconds to locate Jessica. Of course, she’s standing tall in the midst of it all, up front against Bolan, leading the students. Ready to make a decision, accompanied by the rest of the gang. Justin makes his way to her through the crowd and joins their friends, tapping Jessica on the arm.

“My God, Justin,” she whispers, hugging him.

“Hey, how’s Clay?” Tony asks immediately. Behind them, dozens of students lean in with that same inquiry, worried about Clay’s well-being. Justin appreciates the concern, although he’s not too sure Clay would.

“Not good,” he answers honestly, lowering his voice. “They have him sedated, for now. I don’t really want to talk about it. Bolan really called in the cavalry?”

“Looks like it,” confirms Zach, looking back at Bolan and Foundry and the police officers.

“Do they really expect us to go back inside with all of that there?” Alex scoffs.

“They don’t want us to go back inside anymore,” Jessica explains, just a little bit terrified at the sight in front of them. “They want us out of here.”

As if on cue, they hear microphone feedback and turn around to see the policeman in charge sending out a message--or an ultimatum, rather: they’ve got two minutes to vacate the premises or else they’ll be forcibly removed.

Justin looks around, meeting equally confused, distraught, and worried faces. No one walks away, though. Standing their ground in spite of knowing it could be a mistake they’ll potentially regret in less than two minutes. They all nod at each other for approval and encouragement. Even if someone did retreat, which Justin would never fault them for doing, he’s not leaving Jessica out here alone. God knows what will happen to her.

“Look, Jess, we’ve seen their tactics,” says Alex in a whisper.

“Sure we have,” nods the girl. “Police brutality, racial profiling, no due process, no presumption of innocence.”

“What’re you going on about?”

“They tried to arrest Diego,” confesses Jessica, true fear in her eyes, now. “While we were marching out. One of the police officers just singled him out, for no reason at all except that he’s fucking Dominican. Needless to say, it got real messy real fast.”

“Jesus Christ,” scowls Justin. He looks to his right, seeing Diego back there with the football guys--unscathed for now, until he gets ahold of one of the police officers, Justin reckons. Whatever else has happened between them, he’s relieved to see he’s alright for the time being.

“Yeah, exactly my point, Jess,” scowls Alex then. “I’m ready for a fight, but fuck! They’ve guns, and we’ve got nothing.”

After two seconds, Jessica flashes a smug grin. Justin sighs out of relief and worry at the same time--she’s got a plan, now. A plan of action, a plan of attack, no doubt. And he doesn’t like it one bit.

“That’s not entirely true,” she says. “They’ve _trained_ us for this moment.”

“Tell us, what’s the plan?” Justin asks, eagerly. Whatever the odds, he needs action, he needs to be doing something. He cannot stand out here, arms crossed, letting Bolan and the rest of those police officers get scot-free after their actions put Clay in a hospital bed at the psych ward. No, they’re going to pay.

* * *

Running across town as fast as he can, Clay soon realizes the meds did do a pretty number on him. He’s still a little groggy, and panting more than he should given the distance he’s run, which leads him to rest against a wall or streetlight now and then to catch his breath.

He knows he cannot stop, however. He’s got the smallest of time frames before his parents and Justin are notified he escaped from the mental institution, and then the three of them, along with the police, will be on his tail within minutes. He assumes, too, he’ll easily figure out where he’s going.

For his first stop is possibly the last place any rational kid would want to go after being admitted at a mental institution after suffering a nervous breakdown at school--although, given all the recent events, it makes all the sense in the world, too. He needs to check in with his peers and friends and, if necessary, give a hand out. His condition doesn’t matter one bit, right now.

Of course, he should have realized he’s too late. It’s almost dusk, already, the riot against Bolan, Foundry and the police wouldn’t prolong for hours on end. It wasn’t the hundred-years war--which, being historically accurate, lasted for more than a century.

The premises are empty now, except for a couple of remaining police officers guarding the doors. No Principal, no Foundry, no students. Although Clay sees an absurd amount of textbooks, notebooks, and varying school supplies scattered on the floor. Were his friends and classmates stupid enough to fight policemen, armed with real weapons and covered with full protective gear, with school supplies? Was that Jessica’s endgame and the best plan of attack Justin and the gang could come up with, even with so little anticipation to actually plan it? That surely ended up well. And. . . Is that a burned car he sees at the end of the street? What in the world happened?

He cannot linger to demand those answers. He cannot risk those remaining police officers will find him suspicious, realize who he is, and call the Sheriff’s office. Now that he’s rested a few minutes, Clay sets off running again, leaving the premises without any of the policemen following him.

The second place he’s headed for is probably obvious, too--although he really cannot reason nor decide if it’d be more conspicuous if he’d gone straight home for help. Either way, he doesn’t care, and it doesn’t matter. He needs to talk to somebody without fear of a police officer tackling him or some doctor pushing medication up his IV. Without watching the concern in his parents’ and brother’s faces.

Of all the places in all the world, of everyone he could go to, Clay finds himself at Dr. Eldman’s home, banging at the door. His first reaction, warning he’s required to inform the police, only irks Clay.

“You call the police, you’ll never see me again,” he yells in response, knowing Dr. Eldman’s sense of righteousness will never allow for that to happen. He needs assistance and he went to Dr. Eldman for help, not the police. He’s feeling tense, worried, drained, and a few other emotions he cannot quite place right now. “I’m just… So tired. Like I can never sleep, and I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

Finally, Dr. Eldman allows him into the house and then into his study. This time around, however, Clay doesn’t think he can stand sitting on that goddamn couch, and so he demands the chair. After a few seconds, Dr. Eldman does take the couch, accommodating to Clay’s needs and demands. As per Clay, he’s just too nervous and fidgety to sit down for the time being, although he’s relieved, for he did not catch the man excusing himself to ring the police concerning his whereabouts.

“I’ve felt so afraid of so many things for so damn long,” Clay confesses.

He walks up and down the study, trying to push through, to blow off steam, to brush whatever he’s feeling off. He’s not sure talking about--going into his panic instead of running away from it, as Dr. Eldman suggested some time back--is actually helping and stopping the panic attack he feels coming all over his body and soul.

“I mean, I don’t even think I can ever remember not being afraid.”

“Try,” begs Dr. Eldman, pointing now at the chair with a wave of his head. “Try to tell me about a time you felt safe. Taken care of. Go as far back as you need to.”

Begrudgingly, Clay sits down, unsure if he was making Dr. Eldman and himself more nervous with his pacing up and down the study. He tries to think. . . Remembering, going over some of his life’s events and memories, some of them dazy and blurry, others clear as if they’d happened only yesterday. He takes his time, for Dr. Eldman has never rushed him in any of the questions he’s thrown at him in previous sessions. The man believes a well-thought-out answer is the best there is, and Clay concurs with the statement.

For some reason, his mind does go back a long time, when he was running a fever with seven or eight years and his Dad stayed at home with him, taking care of him. His Dad looked so worried over him, but Clay wasn’t, not in the slightest. He was just glad to have him there.

He feels a little bit badly, going as far back that one memory, so long ago. Justin’s helped him through so much, and him being by his side has helped him feel stronger, safer, in so many ways and occasions--and vice versa, per Justin’s own words. It’s just, Clay hasn’t felt safe, at ease, or in peace, since well before Hannah. Even with Justin in his life, there was so much shit going on. . . Bryce, Monty, Diego and the football players, Ani. It’s all too damn much for one lifetime.

“Why do you think they worry?” Dr. Eldman asks.

“I don’t want them to,” confesses Clay, a stabbing feeling against his heart at the thought of his parents worrying. And then he tries to answer the question. “Because of everything that I do, of the trouble I’ve caused. Because I’m not right.”

“Do you think if you were perfect, they’d never worry about where you were, what you were doing, if you were healthy? Happy, safe?”

Clay has got to admit Dr. Eldman’s got a point there. He can already picture his mother when he and Justin go off to College and what the conversations with her will sound like, every single time: are they eating properly? Are they cold at night? Do they have friends they can rely on? Are they having fun? Are they happy with their decisions?

“And when they do, can you try to remember that feeling--the feeling of being glad they’re there?” suggests Dr. Eldman, to which Clay nods. “Then perhaps, you can start to believe that there are people in your life that want to take care of you. That want you to do well.”

“I’ll try,” grants Clay in the end.

“On that note, there’s something I want you to see.”

Arms crossed, almost holding his breath, Clay watches Dr. Eldman reach for his tablet and browse through several documents and files. He then turns the tablet towards Clay--a video, Clay nods when he leans forward--and presses play.

The video buffers for a few seconds, but that frozen image makes Clay freeze already. It was filmed on school properties and it shows Justin, megaphone in hand, on top of the car, while dozens of students run past him and the car. This was from today, he realizes, embracing himself. The riot he missed.

When the video finally starts, terrible racket swarms through study: students fighting, yelling, running, and struggling against police officers. Clay realizes students did use school supplies as their only weapons and, when that didn’t work, they resorted to hand-to-hand combat, although it seems many students retreated soon after. Through it all, Justin’s voice raises in the chaos, amplified by the megaphone, trying to call everyone into order. And, outstanding as it is, classmates listen.

“Don’t run away from this!” He yells, pointing at the school, the police officers, the fighting behind them. “Look! They’re going to try and make us think that _we’re_ the problem, but we are _not_ the problem! We go to the school _they_ built for us. We live in the society that _they_ made for us, and shit is broken! Shit is wrong! And they can’t fix it. And they won’t! So it’s _our_ turn, now. We’re going to make it right if we have to burn it down and start over. So I say fuck it all! _We’re fighting! WHO'S WITH ME?”_

The feed finishes soon after--not without showing dozens of students yelling and running back to Liberty, going back to the fight. Clay couldn’t express how damn proud he is of Justin. Not that he wasn’t before, of course.

Dr. Eldman locks the tablet and puts it back on the coffee table between them, a little smirk on his face.

“As it would seem, many students were as tired as you are. You started what happened in school today, and your brother saw it through to the end. So, you see,” he says, concluding tone, “people do care about you. People reacted upon you being hurt that way. That is not wrong. Having people caring about you, protecting and defending you, is not wrong.”

After a couple of minutes, Clay thinks he believes those words, or at least, that he can work on believing them. Feeling barely strong enough to stand, he and Dr. Eldman leave the study. . . And Clay sees out there not only his parents and Justin, but it’s also the whole damn gang. Sitting on the chairs, just standing, or pacing around the hall in his mother’s case, they’re all for there for him--Clay did miss the moment when Dr. Eldman made the call.

“Oh, Clay, honey,” shrieks Lainie, hugging him.

Clay staggers a little bit, throwing his arms around his mother’s body as Matt and Justin come closer, too. Above their shoulders, he sees broad, relieved smiles on his friends and peers’ faces, as well as Dr. Eldman’s, and his words about letting people worry and care for him ring again in his ears. Jessica, Tony, Tyler, Alex, Charlie, Zach. . . They’re all sporting varying injuries upon the fight at school this afternoon, but they showed up for him. How could he forget?

“Hey, Clay,” whispers Jessica, as if afraid to spook him if she talks any louder. “Hope you’re doing better.”

“Getting there,” he nods.

“I’ve spoken with Sheriff Diaz, and I don’t think Clay’s is at risk of self-harm,” Dr. Eldman says, warm voice, patting Clay’s arm. “He can go home. It’s probably best. Also, he and I have decided it’s best if I see him twice a week for the next while.”

Clay nods, to prove Dr. Eldman’s not exactly putting words into his mouth to soothe his parents’ worry--despite the fact that when the man suggested two visits per week, Clay knew it wasn’t a mere suggestion he could say no to. On the other hand, however, even he has to admit Dr. Eldman’s been, occasionally, helpful.

“Thanks,” Matts appreciates, shaking Dr. Eldman’s hand.

“D’you want to sleep back in the house instead of the outer house tonight?” Lainie says, and Clay thinks back on that story he’s told Dr. Eldman, where his father didn’t leave his side, where his hands stroking through his hair gently helped him to sleep.

But then he looks back at Justin and reflects on how much they’ve both helped each other ever since he brought Justin into the family. He just manages to catch Justin wiping some tears off his eyes, seeing the concern in his demeanor.

“I’ll be fine,” he promises.

“Let’s go, kiddo,” says Matt, pointing outside.

The family leads the way and the gang all follows, with Dr. Eldman at the end of the entourage, switching off lights on his way.

“You missed quite a lot at school,” Alex informs Clay, his tone almost mocking.

“Yeah, you need to bring me up to date.”

Dr. Eldman, at the back, watches Clay and his friends, who are making light fun of today’s events already. This turn-up is almost as beneficial for Clay as a one-hour session, and perhaps he can scratch that ‘almost’. He did call Matt and Lainie upon seeing Clay through the window, and told them to come here with Justin and his friends, but warned them not to interrupt the late-night session. Clay needed some ‘me time’ and, above all, time to reflect what’s happened, what will happen in the future, and who he can trust. He just hopes Clay will remember those answers.

“Clay,” he calls him out one last time. The whole entourage stops, but understanding doctor and patient need a minute alone, they all walk down the steps, spreading amongst the cars they drove here in. “I’d say you can trust your friends, too. They had your back in there.”

The boy looks over his shoulder, beyond the beam of light from Dr. Eldman’s porch. Each resting against their car, they’re laughing at something Clay missed, but the general, overall feeling is a relief to know that he’s safe and sound--escape from the mental health center notwithstanding. He knows Dr. Eldman’s right. Deep down, he’s always known. It’s just hard to remember so, sometimes.

“Yeah. I know now.”

“Goodnight, then,” Dr. Eldman bids goodbye. He shuts the door and turns off the outer light, leaving Clay in the darkness.

In the darkness, perhaps, but not alone, he reflects. Behind him, he hears the conversation between his parents, Justin, and his friends. He turns around to meet them, interrupting whatever they were discussing, thanking the gang for being here at such a late hour--couldn’t have been easy to slip out of their homes after the riot at school earlier. Justin drags him into the back seats of the family car and the whole gang waits until their vehicle has passed by to drive off, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this version and development of the story :) 
> 
> The past couple of chapters have been kind of dark and difficult, trying to fix whatever mess s4 was, but from now on I'm back on happy stories and one-shots of Justin and the Jensens, because I miss that ray of sunshine having the happiness he deseves :D


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the riots, School shuts down for two weeks. Everyone copes with the events and its consequences as best as they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it !! :)

“ _Fuck_ , this shit is heavy,” Clay complains between grunts.

He somehow manages to carry the bag of soil from the garage to the garden, where he drops it without much contemplation by his father’s side. He then leans on his knees, breathing heavily after the exertion. Matt, a little bit amused because of Clay’s struggles, tries to hide a smile as he hands him his gloves back, but Clay still needs a minute to catch his breath.

“Come on, a little bit of exercise is good for you,” he argues.

“I do exercise,” Clay replies. “Justin and I go running almost every freaking morning. _This?_ This is simply good, old torture.”

“Torture,” scoffs Matt, shaking his head. He signals at Clay to open the soil bag and he complies, although work does not distract him enough not to keep complaining. Clay’s always had a good way with words and arguing, much to Matt’s biggest delight and dismay--depends on the day and the occasion.

“Yes, torture,” Clay says. “I’ve got spaghetti arms, carrying this weight is inhumane. I’ll be sore tomorrow.”

“What’s a little pain in compensation for such beautiful flowers welcoming you home every day after school, kiddo?” argues Matt.

As he grabs a handful of soil and pours it over the flowerbed, Clay takes a second to really look at the flowerbed they’ve been working on for the past hours. Lainie went wild a few days back and bought two dozen new flowers to plant out in the garden, although with her work, she never found the time to plant them herself. That’s where the two-week suspension Clay and Justin got for the riot at Liberty kicked in. And not only with the flowerbeds, but they’ve also been helping out around the house a lot ever since.

“Don’t slack off, kiddo, we're almost done,” Matt says, pulling Clay out of his reveries.

Clay hastily grabs the shovel and plants on the small hole the new flower, then digs his fingers into the soil, making sure the plant stands straight, the roots are properly covered. His father then pours a little bit of water onto the soil--never water the plant from above--and Clay flattens out the soil around the flower, taking out the unnecessary surplus.

Then, they move onto the next flower. Only five more to go.

Part of him knows that his mother buying the flowers was only a scheme to make him and Justin work with nature, which their Mom’s always saying is good for the mind and body, plus it’d help with cooperation and collaboration amongst brothers.

Of course, the idea kind of backfired, what with Justin spending so little time at home the past couple of weeks. Not that Clay minds spending time with his folks, even if he’s forced to do house chores around the clock. It’s good preparation for when he leaves for College, which will come sooner than he’s ready for--so long as they do survive the last few weeks of High School.

Time with his parents has been quite useful, really. Here at home, he’s had a chance to go over the words Dr. Eldman said in the session after he escaped from the hospital: that his parents will always worry and he shouldn’t feel bad about it. Quite the opposite, really. He feels safe and nurtured and taken care of. Two weeks away from school have changed a lot of things, the most significant of them, Clay’s levels of stress and anxiety. His nightmares have stopped and, with any luck, so have the dissociating episodes, although he’s got no way of proving that, yet. He’s almost eager to go back to school, if only to see their friends and be done with classes at Liberty once and for all.

“Nicely done,” Matt praises when they're finished and they finally stand, sweating, their backs and arms aching a little bit.

He tries to pat Clay on the shoulder but he remembers, just in time, that he’s still wearing the dirty, covered in soil, gloves. He takes them off and then rests his hands on Clay’s shoulders as he stares at the results of their work.

“Dad,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I scared you the day of the riot. It won’t happen again.”

He’s just realized he’s never said the words aloud, although he still feels so much remorse over what happened that day two weeks ago. Remorse and shame and a few other things he’s having a hard time naming.

“You can’t promise that,” Matt replies softly. “I wish with all my heart you’re never put into such a stressful situation ever again, and your mother and I will try our best to have the school fire those SROs and everything else. . . But people, from time to time, they need help. We all do. Just try to ask for it before it gets so bad.”

Unable to promise so out loud and risking his voice breaking in the process, Clay nods a few times. Matt seems to understand his predicament, for he instructs Clay to wait for him at the porch and he enters the house.

For a second, Clay doesn’t move. He stares at the flowers, feeling a funny sense of satisfaction and accomplishment watching the materialization of their morning’s struggles and work. The flowers, it’s such an explosion of different colors, as if a frame taken out from the beginning of _My Fair Lady,_ it almost hurts the eye. And for that, he knows that for the next few weeks he’ll return home from school and feel grateful to have those flowers there.

Following his father’s instructions, Clay goes around the house and waits at the porch, sitting down on the steps. Being in the shade helps out a lot, right now. He hadn’t truly realized how hot and tired he was until he’s stopped to rest.

“Here we go,” says his father, coming out of the house carrying a tray with two lemonades and a few cookies. He sits on Clay’s same step, the tray between them, and for some minutes, they simply eat and drink, enjoying, per usual, each other’s quiet company.

It’s terribly strange and off-putting for Clay being at home at eleven-thirty in the morning on a school day. He hadn’t imagined it’d be so silent, what with most of the neighbors away at their jobs and school. Cars drive past now and then, and at times, some dog starts barking for no apparent reason other than being bored. It feels so wrong.

 _Well, that’s how it’s supposed to be, really,_ he reckons. Liberty closed because of the stunt they pulled. No one can deny the students had sufficient reason for their actions, but it seems everyone went too far. They’re not getting medals or commendations for what happened back then, and they’re not supposed to feel proud of it. Then again, some of them do.

“You know, ever since your Mom gave birth, and the doctor put you in my arms, I've been terrified,” says Matt a few minutes later, picking up their earlier conversation just where they’d left it. “Scared out of my mind. Truly. And then, with Justin… One would think my fears would decrease by some feeling of knowing what I’m doing, but they didn’t. I’m twice as terrified every second of every day. Someone needs to explain the equation to me--twice the number of sons, twice the trouble and fright.”

Clay doesn’t know how to answer that and so, he remains quiet. Apologizing again just feels hollow and dishonest, and he can’t think of anything else to say.

“I remember my grandfather dying when I was 14,” his father keeps going, on an unusually long speech coming from him. “My first experience of it. And you… You’ve looked at death too many times for a young person. Your generation… High school, it’s different today. But in many ways, not. High school has always been something to be survived. And it’s not right. Or fair.”

“Yeah. It sucks,” scowls Clay with a shrug. “Unfortunately, it’s just the way it is.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” his father scoffs. “I keep telling myself that. . . You’ll pull through it. High school can be survived. I’m living proof of that.”

The whole conversation brings Clay back to the end of last year, at Monét’s, right after Tyler’s photographic presentation. When he stayed behind on that couch with Justin, and Jessica, feeling depressed and hollow. They talked about how life was not meant to be easy--ironic conversation when they had no idea what was to come. The trick, however, was that one needs to go through life’s struggles and survive them, and that’s the most difficult part of it all.

Jessica said she wanted better than a tough, hard life. Right now, Clay couldn’t agree more with that statement. He wants to put this whole hellish chapter of their lives behind his back.

“And there’s joy too, right? I hope you’ve known joy,” his father asks, desperately wanting to hear an affirmative answer.

“Yeah, I have, Dad,” Clay nods without a shred of doubt. “I have Justin, now. And my friends…” And Hannah. And Ani and Skye, however messed up all those relationships were. At some points through the scary mist of classes and dates and exams and shooting drills, he found happiness, that’s undeniable.

“Speaking of which,” his father says.

Looking down the street, they don’t see it yet, but Tony’s car’s engine is pretty much distinguishable from a mile apart. Sure enough, a minute later his vehicle pulls up in front of the house, and Tony, with one of his permanent black leather jackets on, steps down from the driver’s seat.

“Morning, Mr. Jensen,” he greets, climbing the steps to the porch.

“Morning,” Matt says in return.

“And what happened to you?” Tony scowls, waving at Clay’s attire, completely dirty from the soil and sweat.

“Gardening duties,” Clay shrugs.

Matt pours another glass of lemonade for Tony, which he accepts grateful, and both boys head for the outer house for a little bit of privacy. For the past couple of weeks, all of their friends have been dropping in unannounced or not almost every day for two very different reasons: one, to help Clay in his recovery. Two, because the Jensen’s place has been sort of a safe haven for everyone in the gang. Despite the expulsion, given what happened to Clay, their parents have been truly accommodating and understanding of the situation. Quite opposite to the reaction of every one of their friends’ parents.

As soon as they enter the outer house, Val meets Tony by barking and growling and, in one word, being scared of the intruder.

“After all this time and she _still_ doesn’t like me,” Tony sighs, just a little bit forlorn. Val keeps her distance, tail dropped, sometimes showing her teeth at Tony.

“Can’t truly blame her. You’re an acquired taste,” Clay winks at him across the room.

“Oh, really? D’you want a taste of my boot?”

“Relax, man,” chuckles Clay, and the sound of him laughing does make Tony crack a smile, relieved beyond belief. They hadn’t had a break, nor a peal of good-hearted laughter, in so damned long. “Actually, it’s time for her walk, want to come?”

“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do today.”

“Let me just take a quick shower. If she bothers you at all, there’re some treats for her at the top drawer,” Clay instructs before shutting himself in the bathroom. He desperately a clean set of clothes before going out, even if it’s just a walk for Val.

Fifteen minutes later, the two boys and the dog bid farewell to Matt and walk down the street. In the beginning, they just talk about innocuous stuff like books, music, or Val, but when they’re far enough from the Jensen’s and any prying and busybody neighbors, they irretrievably change the subject towards Liberty and what they’re going to find starting tomorrow morning.

The school hasn’t made any official announcements that they know of, but they are aware parents have had some meetings with Bolan and Foundry over the past couple of weeks, and they can only assume the Principal has made some changes around Liberty upon the riot. There’s so much the students can take, and they now know the lengths the student population can go to in order to express their nonconformity. So long as they don’t have to walk through any metal detectors or walk past armed SROs on their way to class or the bathroom, it’s going to be fine. Not a threat--just the statement of a fact.

“It’s going to be fine,” Tony promises. “We just have to endure a few more weeks, then we graduate, and lose sight of Liberty forever.”

“Yeah,” nods Clay. At least their personal Hell has an expiration date not too far down the line. It’s been four very difficult years to muddle through.

Although they truly had no planned destination in mind, Clay surreptitiously has lead the way to the city center and, more accurately, to Monét’s. Clay wanted to check in on his brother, for they haven’t seen each other for almost twenty-four hours: Justin had an afternoon shift and came back late at night, when Clay was already asleep, and this morning, Justin’s left for work before Clay woke up. The text messages Justin has been sending him throughout the day tell him he’s alright, and that’s what he’s told their folks, but still, it’d be nice to see some proof of life every twenty-four hours.

Since no pets are allowed inside, Clay and Tony peak through the windows. They see Justin hurrying from one side to the other of the café, sorting tables and chairs, taking down the customer’s orders. He seems to be doing alright, despite the frenetic pace and the endless hours he’s been putting in lately.

Justin hasn’t only been working at the café full-time, but also over time, even taking so many night shifts, which pays more, over the past two weeks. He won’t tell the truth to their folks, but there’s a very simple explanation for Justin doing all of that and it’s a one-word answer: College. He wants to save up as much as possible to spare their parents from spending even _more_ money on him. Seems like he’s forgetting that his education is as important as Clay’s education, or their health.

Still, there was no stopping Justin once he put his mind to it. On the few occasions they’ve seen each other, Clay’s tried to talk to him and made him understand, to no avail. All in all, he had to put the foot down today regarding Justin’s shifts, for tomorrow they’re supposed to wake up early for school.

At some point, they catch Justin’s eye and he comes out of the café, sporting the usual uniform of the café’s T-shirt and apron.

“Hey there, Val,” he greets. Hadn’t been for Clay’s leash, Val would have sprinted across the street and across the café to meet Justin, and now he barks gleefully at her owner when he kneels to caress her behind the ears.

“Hello, stranger,” Clay says. “It seems so good to see you again.”

“Thanks?” says a dubious Justin, squinting his eyes. He stands, wiping his hands on the apron, shaking hands with Tony, and hugging Clay in turn. “Was I supposed to understand that?”

“No, forget it,” Clay shrugs it off. “Can you take five?”

“Actually, I can’t, sorry. My shift ends in twenty.”

“Oh, so we could walk back home?” Clay asks, hopeful to actually spend some time with his brother.

“I’ve got a meeting later,” says Justin, apologetic tone. He cannot shake that one off either, as bad as he feels for standing Clay up so much lately.

“Are we _ever_ going to see you again at home, dude?”

“Yes, you will,” chuckles Justin, rolling his eyes at Clay. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“And to rest,” Clay insists, patting Justin on the arm. “You don’t look so good. How many hours did you sleep last night again?”

“Hey, screw you. I told you, you don’t need to worry about me, I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because you look a little bit pale,” Tony can’t help but add, knowing how much it’ll piss Justin off and concern Clay even more.

“Positive,” promises Justin, taking a look above the shoulder to see if the manager would catch him beating up a potential client on literally on the doorstep of the shop. “No need to call any ambulances. Now, you know I cannot actually invite you inside for a coffee, but would you like two lattes to take away?”

“Yes, please,” says Tony.

Five minutes later, he and Clay, along with Val, resume their walk through town, with a cup of steaming coffee each. Their drinks finished long before reaching Clay’s place, they bid farewell with a hug too, but since both Matt and Lainie are in the house, they don’t spend any time theorizing about what’s going to happen tomorrow at school. Tony leaves the neighborhood with his unique and characteristic engine roaring.

True to his word, Justin comes back home just in time for dinner. Arguing he’s beat after so many shifts at Monét’s and the meeting afterward, he skips family movie night and goes straight to sleep.

The overworking has its consequences, in the end, no doubt. In the morning, when their alarm clocks turn on, Clay finds out Justin has no intention of actually waking up, getting dressed, and go to school. Seems like he wants to extend the ban a few more days.

“Dude,” Clay scowls in the end, raising his voice. He’s changed and has his backpack ready, whereas Justin hasn’t even left his bed. “Time to go, man, come on. First day back and all of that shit.”

Justin just groans in response, barely able to sit straight on his bed.

“Yeah, they closed the school down for two weeks, but we still have to make it up to the end of the year.”

With that, Clay turns around and zips his backpack, which had been gathering dust for ten days on a corner, and it’s finally back on its usual duties of carrying books and notebooks and stuff to and from school.

“I don’t really feel like going, man…”

That sentence freezes Clay in place and he does a double-take. Justin’s voice sounded weak and groggy and, because of that, Clay drops the pretense and the jokes and kneels by Justin’s bedside. He looks as if he didn’t get any sleep at all, he’s sweat all over the bed, and is sporting dark bags under his eyes. No, whatever he says, he’s not doing fine, not by a long shot.

“You’re running a fever,” Clay says, worried now.

“Don’t worry about it. Just let me rest and I’ll be fine,” scowls Justin, pushing his hand away.

“None of that.”

“I haven’t used in weeks, man, I. . .”

“No, I believe you, that’s why I’m worried,” Clay interjects, grabbing his phone. Their mother’s still in the house, but it’ll be quicker to just phone her and have her prepare the car while he helps Justin out of bed.

“What the hell are you doing? Do not call an ambulance for this shit.”

“No, I’m calling Mom. She can take you to the hospital.”

“Fucking hell,” his brother yells. He reaches out an arm in a lame attempt to take the cell phone, probably without realizing that alerting Lainie would be as easy as walking a few steps to the main house, but Clay moves out of the way with time to spare. He dials their mother's number while Justin glares back at him. “Don’t, Clay. Do not bother her.”

“Justin, remember what the doctor said. Your immune system is sort of fucked-up right now, so we need to be hypervigilant if you catch even a freaking cold, for it can become worse in no time,” Clay argues.

“I’m sure it’s nothing!”

“Remind me where you got your Ph.D. again?” scowls Clay. “No, we’re doing this _our_ way, Justin, you’re not getting a say in this. Better safe than sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things to say here... 
> 
> 1\. First of all, nobody panic, I am NOT having Justin's HIV developing into AIDs. I've said it before and I'll say it again, Justin isn't dying on this work. This is just the common flu. 
> 
> 2\. This chapter was sort of a mix-up too, I included dialogue and conversations between Clay and Matt from ep 10 season 4, ep 7 from season 9, and that last bit of Clay going back to school and Justin not feeling well is, of course, from ep 9 season 4. 
> 
> 3\. I just wanted to, somehow, "slow down" the pace of the horrible season 4 and the last few chapters I've written... Give the kids a chance to breathe and cope and assess how they're doing, I suppose? :) Anyways, I think I am done now with the sad and daunting side of the story, and much brighter chapters lay ahead now ! :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staying sick at home, Justin tries to work on his College applications while missing out on all the developments going on at Liberty. Also, Clay receives the package from Mrs. Baker.

`Talk about a positive influence in your life. `

Nibbling on the sweatshirt’s aglet, Justin stares at the blank page of the Word document he’s got open. He’s learned a lot from Clay in the time they’ve been together, including how to structure and write proper essays, and yet, at the eleventh hour, he’s drawing a fucking blank. 

He knows who he wants to talk about, of course. There’s only one person who’d fit the criteria. The question is—where to begin? How can he explain in one thousand words or less everything that Clay has given him, everything that Clay means to him? Could anyone understand how much his life has changed for the better once he started living with the Jensens? 

They’re the reason why he’s gotten so far. Passed his exams, almost graduated High School with relatively high grades coming from him, and now, writing a paper for College application. Could whoever reads this essay understand so? 

The key turns in the lock and the man in question shows up, dropping his backpack to the floor. Justin checks the time, realizing he’s just wasted two hours without making any progress with that forsaken essay. 

“What the hell?” Clay scowls when he sees Justin on his laptop. He hastily puts it on standby and lays it back on the bed—not that there’s anything private to read, because he hasn’t managed to write a single sentence. “You’re supposed to be resting. Mom’s going to kill you if she sees you on the computer. She said she was bringing you some soup.”

“I’m feeling better,” Justin promises. Skeptical, Clay sits on the bed and rests a hand on Justin’s forehead—and lets out a noncommittal grunt. 

“Your fever’s down, that’s for sure,” he points out. 

“Told you. Val’s been keeping me company, haven’t you?” asks Justin, reaching out a hand to pet her behind the ears. Val hasn’t left his bedside since he started feeling ill yesterday morning, keeping an eye on him in Clay’s stead, a perfect distraction while Justin was too sick to do any reading. She now barks and licks Justin’s hand, relieved and excited that her owner should feel better and stronger. 

“Still, you shouldn’t be forcing your eyesight focusing on your computer or books,” Clay remarks, waving at the laptop and the comic books scattered all over Justin’s bed. He also points at Val, who by all accounts shouldn’t be on the bed, albeit knowing there’s no force on Earth that can keep the dog away from Justin. 

“I’m fine, man.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that. I don’t want to spend another night lying on the bathroom floor while you puke non-stop,” scowls Clay. 

At that, Justin’s smug expression for being right about his fever vanishes, replaced now by a tortured look from last night’s memory. Thinking his stomach had settled, he overdid it with dinner, and paid the consequences by not sleeping at all throughout the night. Clay’s situation was worse, however, for he still went to school this morning. 

“Nevermind, how was school?” 

Sighing deeply, Clay checks over the shoulder to make sure their mother doesn’t magically show up there without their knowledge. 

“They’re still questioning the students about the riot.” 

By the way he talks, Justin understands today was Clay’s interrogation. Poor guy, he wasn’t truly ready for school today. 

“You’re not in any trouble?” Justin asks, worried. 

Clay cocks his head, flashing a crooked smile. He reaches out a hand towards Val and she lets out a low whine, looking alternatively between her owners, torn. She doesn’t know if she should spend some time with Clay, whom she hasn’t seen all day long, or if she should stay by Justin’s bedside. Responsibility towards her sick patient wins her over and settles back on the bed. 

“Funnily enough, they know exactly where I was during the riot,” says Clay. “So, for once, I’ve got a pretty good alibi. They’ll want to talk to you when you go back, though. I’m guessing they also got a hold of that video footage of you spurring the students on.” 

“Yeah. Jess told me,” nods Justin, resting his head against the pillow. 

“Has she? Has she been completely honest with you?” Clay snaps, remembering another conversation they had today with Jess. It seems Justin’s on the loop, as well, for he raises a pacifying hand towards Clay. 

“She was. She told me that Bolan asked for her help at the beginning of the semester,” Justin says, to prove he knows about it all, too, and he’s not as pissed off or aghast as Clay would have thought. “She was just trying to keep us all safe. And because of that, we’re going to cut her some slack, okay?” 

His tone is closer to a threat by the end of the sentence and Clay, begrudgingly, nods his head once. Despite her faults, Jess was looking out for them. She’s explained she was trying to make Liberty High a safer place for everyone—it seemed like a good call, considering what Tyler had almost done. She had no idea they’d place SROs officers and metal detectors around the school, nor had Bolan told her about the shooting drill, or else she’d have put a stop to it. 

Rationally, Clay knows all of that. He knows Jessica isn’t at fault, that the only people to blame are Bolan, Foundry, and their parents. But given everything that’s happened, everything he’s been through because of recent events, it’s hard not to hold grudges. 

Now that he’s come clean to his friends and parents about the dissociating and everything he’d done during those episodes. . . Now that the therapy sessions with Dr. Eldman were bearing some fruits. . . Now that it seemed that Bryce, Monty, and Hannah were only bad chapters in the past. . . _Now_ he’s got Foundry and Bolan to deal with? He’s facing expulsion—and who knows what else—when they’re almost at the finish line? How is any of this fair? Why can’t it all stay buried and stop coming back out to haunt their days? 

“Either way,” he clears his throat, trying to get back on track. “Foundry will want to talk to you when you come back. Maybe you’d like to pretend to be sick for a few more days, just in case.” 

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” says Justin with vehemence and conviction. “We were all fed up and I said what I felt like saying. What are they going to do to me? Expel me?” 

“Doubt it,” reckons Clay, but he’s not too sure. School’s gone to unbelievable lengths for the sake of keeping its students safe—and it backfired so badly, both students and parents rioted. They now have to undo everything and assess how beneficial or detrimental the steps they’d taken were, in the first place. “They’ve got Alex cleaning out the old math book room. But maybe they’re just reserving the worse punishments to the instigators or those students they’ve got solid proof against. So, back to my initial point, maybe you’d like to. . .” 

“No, I don’t,” Justin interjects. “I’m not hiding, Clay. Colleges will check grades and attendance. I’m not risking my chances any more than I’ve got to. If I’m in trouble for speaking up, so be it.” 

“Okay.” 

Clay nods a couple of times, understanding Justin’s reasons perhaps better than anyone else. There’s a lot at stake right now, that’s for sure, and although something needed to be done regarding Liberty and the security measures Bolan implemented, they’re all now to face the consequences of their actions. 

The way he’s biting his lower lip, his look unfocused. . . Justin knows his brother enough to know the signs, and leans forward. 

“But there’s something else,” he says, grabbing Clay’s arm. “What is it?” 

Reluctant for about five seconds, Clay, in the end, comes clean. 

“Apparently, against common sense, I’ve. . . Been voted class speaker. That’s what Foundry wanted to tell me today. I have to make a speech at graduation, along with Jessica.” 

“For real? That’s great, man!” Justin congratulates him, patting his back. Val reacts to his excitement by standing on all fours and barking at Clay. 

“Is it?” scowls Clay, turning to face his brother. “It doesn’t make any sense. What kind of bullshit speech can I give? ‘Congratulations, we’ve all fucking survived Liberty, now let’s get the fuck out of this town and never look back’? Because that’s all I’ve got.” 

“Well, I imagine the speech will need to be Boland and Foundry approved, so I’d watch that language,” chuckles Justin, disbelieving that Clay should be so worried about that damned speech. He’s got a lot to say about Liberty, many bottled up emotions and concerns, and he’s got the right to seize his last chance and speak them all out. 

“Yeah, he said something like that,” Clay grumbles. 

“Listen, I’m one hundred percent sure you’ll be alright. Just consider this the last essay you’ll ever have to write for High School.” 

“I’m fucking tired of essays,” he sighs deeply, bending by the waist to rest on his knees. 

“Yeah, I get the feeling. But I’m sure you’ll get your usual A+ on that one, too,” chuckles Justin, rubbing Clay’s back reassuringly. “Would you like my help writing it or coming with some ideas?” 

“Do _you_ need help with your College application essay?” Clay retorts, raising an eyebrow at him. 

At that, Justin freezes, the corners of his lips turning upside down, this time. So, Clay does know about his blank essays and his struggles to write them all, he sighs, dropping back on the bed. 

It’s just, so damned hard, confesses Justin, wishing he could stop time, or hide, just to have a little bit more time. This is it. His one-shot. All he’s worked for, everything he’s been through, it’ll all be worth it or worthless depending on the answer he gets to this one essay. There’s just too much pressure. 

“Hello?” their mother’s voice raises from outside. “Clay, honey, can you give me a hand?” 

The boy in question looks around to check for any out of place items that would surely get them a scolding from their mother. For that reason, he whistles for Val to jump off the bed, and also takes the laptop and all the comic books out of Justin’s reach. Laying it all on the countertop, he opens the door for Lainie, who, as promised, has come by with some soup and orange juice for Justin. 

She smiles proudly when she sees Justin sitting upright and with a much healthier color on his cheeks. As the doctor promised, there really was no reason to panic. Young as he is, even if his immune system is weak right now, Justin can deal with a common cold. 

“Hi, Justin. You’re doing better, I see?” 

“Much better. I think I’m ready to go back to school.” 

“You need to put some food in you first,” Lainie warns before Justin tries to get out of bed and go to school right here and now. “Let’s see how your stomach deals with the soup and we’ll see.” 

“Thanks,” Justin appreciates, as Lainie lays the tray of food on his lap. 

“Clay, by the way, there was a package out front for you,” says Lainie over the shoulder. 

“I’ll get it.” 

Val joins him, eager at the opportunity of getting out of the house a little bit. She dashes towards the front entrance, disappearing from view, and when Clay reaches the porch, he sees her smelling and inspecting an unknown, ten per five inches package, wrapped up in a brown paper. His name and the address is written in beautiful handwriting on a note glued to the box’s upper side. 

“What is it, Val?” Clay asks, tickling her behind the ears. She doesn’t seem to like the package, a low growl escaping her lips. 

Clay picks the package up, realizing it’s not at all heavy, and hides it under his arm on his way back to the outer house. He doesn’t recognize the note’s handwriting, either. Lainie’s left already, giving Justin space and time to eat in peace, and so Clay shuts the door close with his foot, still examining the note. 

“What’s that?” Justin asks—his stomach seems to handle the soup. 

“No idea,” confesses Clay. He sits on the edge of the bed, Val jumping onto it as well and resting against his back, while he rips open the package. 

A gasp escapes his lips, tensing Val behind him. It’s a shoebox. . . One that he knows very well, the blue and black shoebox that started it all. The one holding Hannah’s thirteen tapes—Hannah’s thirteen reasons—all marked with that blue nail polish and the little drawings she decorated the cassettes with. It also includes Tape 6, side B, the one he made which included Bryce’s confession of Hannah’s rape. 

What the hell?

_Maybe you didn’t even realize you were being cruel. Maybe you didn’t do anything at all. And maybe you should have. Too late. I think you know exactly what you did. And after these tapes, you’ll never forget it._

He closes his eyes, his body shivering all over. He doesn’t need a machine to play the recordings, he remembers them all almost word by word. Hannah’s voice starts ringing in his ears without him able to stop her, her face clear as day behind his eyes, her smile, her laughter, her lifeless body. . . 

_See, I never told you, Clay, but I’ve always admired you. You are who you are, and you don’t care. And I always cared about what other people thought of me, as much as I acted like I didn’t. Is that a boy/girl thing, or a Clay/Hannah thing?_

“Hey. Clay. _Clay!”_

Justin’s yells snap out of that confusing daze and dangerous cycle. Panting heavily, Clay looks around, sinking in the time, place, and company. It’s the middle of the afternoon, he’s in the outer house, he’s with Justin and Val, safe and sound. No Hannah, no Bryce, no Monty, he’s not in any life-or-death situation. And still, the shoebox’s lying there, fallen to the floor, threatening to burst the little bubble of joy and peace they’d made for themselves. 

“Breathe, Clay, man. Put your head between your knees and breathe deeply,” Justin instructs him, just as Dr. Eldman instructed Clay to do whenever he felt a panic attack coming. “In and out, slowly. Calm down.” 

“ _How the fuck_ do you suggest I calm down?” shrieks Clay, pushing the damned shoebox away. “It’s open season on Hannah Baker all over again!” 

“It’s from Mrs. Baker!” Justin explains hastily. Pushing the tray with food and the blankets away, he sits by Clay’s side, an arm around Clay’s shoulders. “No one’s blackmailing us and the story isn’t repeating itself all over again. It’s all over. Here.” 

He hands him the note attached to the package. It is indeed signed by the one Mrs. Baker, and her first words addressed to Clay is an apology for the unexpected package and for the bad memories she’s sure the cassettes might have caused him—a little too late for that, Clay scowls. He gives the note back to Justin and closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing until the dizziness fades away. 

By his side, Justin finishes reading the note, keeping an eye on Clay in case he does have some sort of mental breakdown right there. 

“I couldn’t keep the tapes after everything that’s happened. I cannot listen to her voice and her last words, but I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. I thought you of all people might know what to do with the cassettes. Some part of me hopes they might bring you closure of sorts. Either way, they’re yours, now, and you may do with them whatever you see fit. I’ll be back in town for graduation—hopefully, we’ll have some time to talk. Until then, take care. Sincerely. . . Mrs. Baker.” 

“She scared the fuck out of me,” scowls Clay, eyes still closed. 

“Yeah,” agrees Justin, clasping Clay’s hand. That was too much. Almost defeated all the efforts they’ve made so far to put all of those memories behind. “Same here.” 

Val, as if realizing Clay needs her help now more than Justin, finds her way to Clay and sit on his lap. In mechanic movements, he caresses her, letting her settle comfortably, and after a minute, he manages to open his eyes. Clay immediately looks at his brother, the sight of that shoebox bringing back too many painful memories. 

“So. . . Is it too soon to ask what we’re going to do with that?” Justin asks. 

“Bury it once and for all,” Clay says, plain and simple. “For real, this time.” 

“Should I take a shovel and dig a hole in the backyard?” 

“No,” scowls Clay. “Text the group. They should know about it. In fact, I think we should all do this together. It’ll bring closure to all of us.” 

“You got it,” nods Justin, reaching out for his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it ! :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin is finally legally adopted into the Jensen family and celebrates so properly amongst family and friends. Also, Justin and Clay have a heart to heart.

“Congratulations!” 

All seven family members raise their glasses and cheer at Justin, just in time, for Alicia and Will start gobbling down the food in front of them right away, famished. The Court session took longer than expected, truth be told, and it was hard keeping the two kids in line. Especially when they didn’t quite understand what was going on exactly. 

“Welcome to the family, Justin,” Alicia says, reaching her hand to squeeze Justin’s shoulder tightly. “Officially, that is.” 

“Thank you very much,” he says--seems like it’s all he’s been saying, lately. He raises his glass of soda again and Alicia toasts with him, sending Justin a broad, big smile across the table. 

“I still think we should have made reservations somewhere else,” Lainie insists, apologetic tone, upon seeing the simple hamburgers they’ve ordered for such an occasion. “Maybe Medici…?” 

“Lainie, come on,” scowls Matt, taking a sip of his beer, “it was Justin’s choice and he picked where he wanted to eat.” 

“Still. . .” 

“I know you mean well, but I wanted to invite you for lunch today,” Justin says. “It’s my small way of repaying everything you’ve done--and still do--for me.” 

“Well, A, you don’t have to invite us for any reason. B, you’re a Jensen now,” Clay reminds him, a sentence Justin will never quite get used to hearing, “so you should know that you don’t need to thank the family for anything, anymore. We’re not doing you a favor, this is what family does.” 

“Yeah,” nods Justin, with no way to hide the colors rushing to his face. “Still learning that one.” 

“There’s plenty of time,” Matt reassures him. 

“Until they leave for College, at least,” Lainie sighs, her voice breaking at the end of the sentence. 

“Mom, do not get all teary-eyed over College right now,” Clay vehemently forbids her, for Lainie can’t help but get emotional over them leaving in under a few months every time they try to discuss Clay and Justin’s academic future, “and rule number two, do not pester us about College applications today.” 

“Alright, let’s move on from the ‘College’ department, then,” suggests Amy, seeing as it’s a sore subject for the whole family. Before she can actually move onto other matters, however, she needs to tell her son off. “Will, do not dare to wipe your hands on your trousers--that’s what napkins are for.” 

Lunch lingers for hours, regaling Justin with stories and anecdotes about the Jensen family he’d not yet heard about. At some point, Will and Alicia get bored of the adult table talk, and Justin and Clay take them to the park across the street, to play for a little while longer--because, if he wasn’t before, Justin is totally fulfilling his role as the playful, entertaining older cousin. 

The park in question, however, is called Eisenhower Park. Clay still remembers the night Hannah’s tapes brought him here, as clear as if had been last night, and pinpoints the bench he was sitting on when Tony found him there. He recalls the tape word by word, the intonation, the pauses for breath, and that forsaken picture of Hannah that roamed the school for days. 

Hannah still haunts him, he sighs deeply, stopping and closing his eyes. The narration of her and Justin’s date rings in his ears, like every other tape she recorded, and every subsequent consequence they’ve faced since then. It is ironic, maybe, that despite all that shitstorm, one good thing came out of it all, that is--Justin. His adoption was just formalized a few hours ago, and the person in question is having a blast on that forsaken playground, the Hannah chapter of his life buried deep behind him. 

When he opens his eyes again, he catches Justin staring at him across the playground and Clay tries to breathe in and out slowly. Rumor has it, the playground will be renovated sometime in the future. The date can’t come soon enough for Clay. 

“You’re it!” William shouts as he runs past Clay after hitting him on the back. 

“Damn it. Hey, hold on!” Clay yells, chasing after the boy amongst the swings. 

Soon after, their parents come out of the fast-food restaurant, and they join them on the playground with ice-creams to spare, sitting on a bench in the shades. The kids gobble down their desserts as fast as humanly possible and try to go back to play, but Amy cuts their games short, this time around. She needs to go back home and get some rest.

“I’m real sorry, but my feet are killing me,” Amy tries to explain when she hugs Justin again. 

“Please don’t apologize,” begs him--she’s due in only a couple of weeks, after all. 

“Promise me you won’t become a distant, stranger relative now that you’re part of the family,” begs Amy, winking at him. 

“I can totally promise that,” nods Justin. He’s not going to regret or damn any family time he gets in the imminent future, that’s for sure. He then moves on to hug William and Alicia goodbye, kneeling to be eye-level with them. 

They wave Amy and the kids goodbye before climbing onto their car as well, headed back home. Justin, a bit concerned, checks his phone--Clay’s been glued to his cell phone for the last couple of minutes, but Justin hasn’t gotten any text messages from the gang, so he assumes it’s nothing worrisome. He puts his phone away and looks upfront. Lainie and Matt, talking about some book the man’s reading, both got the biggest smiles on their faces. 

It all makes sense to Justin the minute they approach their house. There’s the gang at the bottom of the stairs, who start applauding and cheering the moment they see the car from a distance. They surround the car when Matt parks, Jessica opening Justin’s door to help him out, and that’s when he sees the huge banner hanging from the house’s façade, a “Congratulations, Justin Foley-Jensen!” message written on gigantic capital letters. 

“Surprised?” Jessica asks, dragging Justin to the house, where he starts shaking everyone’s hands and hugging everyone again--Tyler, Tony, Caleb, Cyrus, Ani, Zach, Alex, Charlie. 

“Yeah, absolutely. I didn’t expect any of this,” confesses him. The whole gang was present at Court this morning and he got all the congratulatory messages he could have asked for, although they’d agreed to meet up at Monét’s this afternoon, not a surprise party. 

“Clay organized everything,” Tony explains. 

“Which, by my estimate, constitutes the very second party Clay has at his place,” says Zach when he hugs Justin. “Better late than ever, I guess.” 

“Second and last party ever,” Clay warns. 

“And. . . This is our gift,” says Matt, standing on the sidewalk. Justin realizes then they haven’t turned off the car’s engine, and that they’re carrying travel bags and jackets over the shoulders. 

“We’re going to give some privacy tonight,” explains Lainie, smiling fondly at both her sons. “You proved to be worthy of our trust the other night, so you can just go ahead and have a proper party, now that exams are over. We’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Thank you,” appreciates Justin, his voice breaking just a little bit. 

“Alright, everyone inside for drinks,” orders Clay, leading the way into the house--not that anyone’s forgotten where the kitchen is since the last party. He knows Justin needed a moment alone with their parents and that’s what they give him. 

Justin waits for some seconds, making sure everyone’s gotten inside and are far too busy to listen to the conversation. Matt and Lainie give him all the time he needs to come up with the appropriate words--or the strength to utter them. 

“I just. . . I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with. . . My name?” He ends the sentence in an almost interrogation mark, uncertain. They’d discussed it at great length before today’s appearance before the Judge, and yet, he’s still uncertain. Keeping his mother’s last name. . . It still makes him uneasy, for some reason. He’ll use his legal Jensen last name for any official documents and records, that’s for sure, but he wanted to keep the Foley last name, as well. 

“Of course, we are,” promises Lainie for the umpteenth time. 

“It’s important to you, henceforth it’s important to us, too.” 

“That’s. . . I don’t want you to feel I’m being ungrateful or anything here. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and I. . . Love you for it. But it’s. . . It’s my past, it’s where I come from, and I don’t want to forget it or pretend it never happened. Is it. . . Wrong?” 

“In no way whatsoever,” Lainie reassures him, kissing Justin on the cheek. 

“Now, stop worrying and have fun with your friends,” orders Matt. 

“That’s something I can do,” agrees Justin, flashing the biggest of smiles. 

“We’ll see you in the morning.”

Justin stays there on the sidewalk as Matt and Lainie climb back onto the car. He slams Lainie’s door shut and waves goodbye at them, watching them getting further and further away and then turn right, to the city center. He should have asked where they were planning on spending the night, he now worries they’ll be uncomfortable in a motel or something. 

However, he’s got no chance of going after them or ringing them—for a bike stops in front of the house at that precise moment, with the delivery of pizzas at the back. 

“This the Jensen residence?” the man asks. 

“Yes, it is,” nods Justin, still a bit shocked that he’s one more member of the Jensen family, searching for his wallet. 

“I’ve got it,” says Zach, popping out of the house. So fast that Justin can’t stop him, he fishes out his wallet and hands the delivery guy some bills, before taking the pizza boxes. Balancing them is a bit trickier and now, Justin does give him a hand walking back into the house. 

“Pizzas are here!” Justin announces at the top of his lungs. 

The table has been set, the drinks have been poured, and Tony has taken care of the music selection, so they can all sit at the table and share the pizzas around. Justin is pushed onto one of the chairs and is given a glass of Coke, as he’s instructed not to move a finger at his own party. 

They drink, eat, joke, sing, and laugh for hours on end. At some point, Jessica stands to start the round of toasts. Resting a hand on Justin’s shoulder, she thanks Clay and his parents from the bottom of her heart for giving Justin the loving and caring home he’d always deserved, but had never known. 

“Let’s be honest, shit happens all the time,” says Alex when he stands after the applause for Jessica’s words. “Life is a constant of shitty things happening one after the other.” 

“Strange depressing turn to a celebratory occasion, dude,” Zach jokes, but everyone shushes him to let Alex finish. 

“But things like this adoption do bring the best in people. It’s one of those events in life that need to be recognized and remembered. I hope there’ll be many things to celebrate in the future, not mourn over.”

Tony, after toasting to Justin like everybody else, takes the speech on a more personal note. “I agree it is a beautiful thing you and your family did. But, Clay, the bottom line is, you’ve given a family to a lot of people at this table. And for that, we drink to you, too.” 

Ani reflects that she’s heard about Clay’s family adopting Justin since her first day at school and, although she hasn’t known them for as long as most of the people here, she can tell that they share a bond stronger than blood itself. As per Tyler, he passes on making any speeches, and spends the whole night taking picture after picture, dozens of Clay and Justin--including one of them holding the final adoption papers. They do not let him skip the photoshoot and they pull him in for a group selfie, which of course won’t be as professional as the rest of Tyler’s pictures, but that’s the one going up in the wall. 

Zach’s the last one to stand for his speech. He, too, thanks Clay and his family for their kindness, and he confesses that not having a support system would be an unimaginable experience for anyone. 

“However, I hope you remember that you always had a family. Out there in the field. And right here, amongst these friends.” 

Such a cheesy line gets the better of the group and this time, instead of bursting into applause, the guests burst into laughter and making fun of Zach. The poor man needs to sit down again as a rain of snacks and napkins and empty glasses fall on him. 

Clay stands then, too, surprising Justin. “I know I’ve made a lot of speeches lately, but fuck it, I’m your brother, and I’m doing another one here.” 

“Just. . . Remember to keep it short, alright?” Jessica begs. 

“Am I on a timeframe, now?”

“Yes,” says Alex, checking his watch. “You’ve got two minutes. Start now.” 

Stressed out by the time running, Clay looks for something down his trousers’ pocket and fishes out a piece of paper. He unfolds it and takes a brief look at it before raising his glass at Justin again. 

“You know, our parents have stood by your side ever since the beginning, all throughout the trial with Bryce, your addiction, your HIV, and everything in between,” he says. “I hope you get it into that little brain of yours that there’s nothing you can do to push us away. Not another relapse, not your messy side of the room--nothing. Maybe you can finally understand that our parents do love you. 

“But it’s not only them. It’s your friends, too, everyone sitting here. We will always help you and love you. Here’s to you understanding that.” 

The celebrations continue after dinner with a drinking game, singing, and dancing. For a few hours, everyone, included Clay, forget all about the neighbors, and about the shit in life, and just enjoy the too-loud music. 

When the first neighbor comes knocking on the door, however, they do decide to put an end to the evening--lest they put Justin and Clay in a difficult spot. 

The whole gang helps out cleaning up the table, collecting the garbage, and splitting it into the recycling bins. However, Jessica and Ani do stay later than anyone else, giving a hand out in order to sweep the house, wash the dishes, and make sure the house does look pristine. 

“Dude,” Justin says when they meet at the kitchen, Clay drying the dishes, glasses, and cutlery one by one with a cloth. 

“Dude,” Clay corresponds with a condescending tone. 

“Come on, get out of here, and go talk to Ani.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Seriously, since we’re now brothers officially and all that--” 

“Hey, you don’t get to use that card every time, now,” scowls Clay, pointing an accusatory finger at him. 

Justin just laughs--he will definitely use that card again. “Since we’re brothers and all of that, you’re contractually obliged to listen to me, now.” 

“Not really how this thing works. _I’m_ the older brother, remember?” 

Without staying behind to argue any longer, Justin leaves Clay to his own devices in the kitchen, while he goes take care of. . . Clay doesn't even care, he just turns around and resumes his work, shaking his head at Justin’s stupid ideas. 

A few minutes later, however, he goes meet Ani, begging her to stop working, and just takes five. He’s brought her a glass of water and out of courtesy, Clay points for her to it at the dining table--the same spot she was at before. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says. “I hope you had fun.” 

“I did,” nods Ani. “But you still need to invite me to the ultimate high school experience. I’m guessing this wasn’t a typical American high school party.” 

“No, it really wasn’t,” confirms Clay. “No one passed out, never really tapped a keg, no one ended up at the hospital, everyone could leave on their own devices, and, most of all, people actually stayed afterwards to help clean out.” 

“So, it was a failure.” 

“Depends on who you ask,” laughs Clay. “For me, it was a total success, no doubt.” 

Ani smiles politely at that. “I really am glad for you and Justin. Now, of course, you do realize you’re supposed to take care of him, don’t you?”

“Of course,” nods Clay. “But the truth is, we take care of each other. You know that. He’s helped me so much these past few months, I feel I owe him almost as much as he says he owes us.” 

“Brothers don’t owe each other anything, do they?” asks Ani. 

“Maybe,” Clay grants. 

After a few silent beats, Ani takes the glass of water and finishes it whole. Clay finds himself at a complete loss for words, and some part of him does damn Justin for not giving him more precise instructions. 

“Well, it’s getting late,” says Ani. “I should get going.” 

“Sure, I’ll go find Jessica,” nods Clay, standing. The two girls did come together, after all. 

Justin and Jessica are not too far away, of course. Sitting on the same step of the stairs, almost in the darkness, they were also enjoying and taking advantage of the time alone. When Clay shows up to announce Ani needs to get home, both Justin and Jessica give him astonished and confused looks. What the hell did they think was going on? 

“Let’s go,” says Jessica, pulling on the veranda to stand. 

“Walk them to the car, will you, Jensen?” demands Justin, as he takes care of the glasses he and Ani used. 

Albeit the suggestion isn’t completely out of place, Clay does roll his eyes at Justin’s lame-ass attempts at pushing him constantly towards Ani. He would have done so even without Justin ordering him to. 

“Again, thank you for coming,” he bids farewell. As Jessica climbs into the car, Ani and Clay stand out in the street, on the crosswalk, and given the cold breeze, Clay helps Ani into her jacket, however momentary the standing out here will be. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” says Ani. “And I’ll wait for your invitation to a proper party, next time.” 

Clay laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “I fear that’s going to be a long wait.” 

“I’m a patient woman,” Ani says with a warm smile. 

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Do,” she instructs. “But don’t make me wait for too long.” 

Before Clay embarrasses himself by trying to answer, Ani saves the distance between the two of them, cups his chin and gives him an almost chastise kiss. After that, she climbs to the car, no words spoken--Clay couldn’t form a coherent sentence for the life of him, and words aren’t needed for Ani right now--and Jessica drives off. 

When the car lights vanish and Clay finds himself all alone in the street, he can turn around and step back inside. 

“That’s it?” demands Justin as soon as he steps back in. 

“What the hell did you want to happen?” 

“You should have asked her to stay over.” 

“Jessica was waiting. And I assume she had a curfew to respect, what with her father a military man and all.” 

“Man, she was practically begging you to ask her so at least she’d have the chance to refuse. She was giving you an opening to fix things.” 

“Hey, listen, it’s not that easy, okay? I screwed things up pretty badly, as I’m sure you remember. And don’t make a crack at my poor social skills or not knowing girls,” scowls Clay before he starts. “It’s not that.” 

To his biggest surprise, Justin doesn't start pestering him to no end with jokes. His voice low and constraint, he just asks a one-word question:

“Hannah?”

A noun that hides so much misery and pain and tears. Trying to shut all of those away, Clay closes his eyes and breathes out a single monosyllabic affirmative. 

“Come here,” Justin orders. 

He gives him all the time he needs to react, walk across the room, and sit by his side on the couch. 

“Clay, it’s--”

“I know,” he interjects. “Skye told me. Me pining over a dead girl still, after all this time, it’s pretty fucked up.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not what I was going to mention,” says Justin. “You loved her. That doesn’t go away easily. It can be as fucked up as Skye wants it to be, but it’s the truth. You will never get over her because you will never have closure. You will forever wonder what would life be hadn’t she done what she did. What would going out with her be like, share her laughter, her concerns. You will never get an answer to those questions.” 

“You’re not going to say too that that’s what happens to every couple when they break up?” 

“Maybe. You never broke up, though. Never had the chance.” 

“Well, thank you for this tremendously helpful pep talk--” Clay scowls, standing from the couch, but Justin grabs his wrist to force him down again. 

“You had it a thousand times worse than most,” he says. “In normal circumstances, after a break-up, however painful it was, there is a silver lining: knowing that the other partner still has a chance at happiness. Even if it’s not with you. Unfortunately, we all know that’s not the case with Hannah.”

“Talking from personal experience?” Clay wonders. Justin tilts his head and shrugs--of course, he’s talking about personal experience. “So, you’re saying that it’s okay? That I’m going to feel like this for the rest of my life?”

“I’m saying that it’s fucked up, what happened,” agrees Justin. “That it’s going to take time. And that is alright. Everyone should be able to understand that. 

“But, I’m also saying that, whenever you’re ready to open up again. . . I’ll be right here for you,” promises Justin, laying his hand on Clay’s shoulders. 

The prospect doesn’t look so terrifying and dreadful now that Clay’s got the reassurance that his--now officially--brother _will_ stand by his side and help him. Both their lives have changed so much since Clay took Justin in, for sure. The novelty of having someone for support and comfort, to go to for a good cry or advise. . . Neither of them didn’t really have that before. Of course, the damn traumatic experiences they’ve had together does kind of help create that singular and strong bond Ani mentioned earlier. 

And they wouldn’t have it any other way--nor change it for anything, now that they know what having a brother is supposed to be. It feels good and so right. 

“Fuck,” scowls Clay, tilting back his head. “Want a beer?” 

“Atta boy,” approves Justin, patting his shoulder. 

He stands up faster than Clay, pushing him back on the couch for all the trouble, and heads over to the kitchen for the two drinks. The party might be over, and also the family lunch they had earlier with their folks, but they realize at that moment they haven’t truly celebrated the occasion just the two of them. 

“Welcome into the family, man,” Clay says, his particular toast for tonight. Short, truthful, and it encapsulates easily enough everything they both feel. “I love you.” 

“Love you too, Clay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter before s4 aired but didn't have the time to edit and publish it, and then with the rollercoaster that s4 was... Well, I wanted to focus on fixing some stuff from the show. So I know this one comes a bit late, and the part of Ani and Clay might not make much sense in the current context, but either way, hope you enjoy this ! 
> 
> 2 chapters left: Prom and Graduation !


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One-word summary: Prom ! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping the majority of events from the show: ie Alex and Charlie being Prom Royalty and Justin passing out (SANS THE HIV), plus Justin gives his brother a nudge to dance.

_You learn a couple things when you get to my age_  
_Like friends don’t lie and it all tastes the same in the dark_  
_When your vinyl and your coffee collection is a sign of the times_  
_You’re getting spiritually enlightened at 29_

Sitting on his table, Clay looks around, trying to let everything sink in. The beautiful venue, the adequate music, his friends sporting smart suits, dancing, and having fun. It all brings a big grin to his lips. After this hellish year, High School is almost finished. He can say that he’s truly, honestly, happy. 

_Won’t you give yourself a try?_  
_Won’t you give yourself a try?_  
_Won’t you give?_

“Hey, man,” Justin says, stopping right in front of him. Unbuttoning his jacket, he’s panting slightly, sweat dripping off his forehead. Not only that, but he’s also abandoned Jessica on the dancefloor, skipping the song halfway through. 

“Hi.” 

“Are you going to stay there all night long?” 

“I don’t do dances,” Clay scowls, waving the idea away. 

With a smug grin, Justin cocks his head. “If Jeff Atkins were here--” 

“Don’t even say it. I can’t, man,” scowls Clay. Not after Hannah and Tyler, he just cannot bring himself to it. Although, on the second hand, there’s also the tiny little detail of his lack of coordination and grace while walking, let alone dancing. 

“After all you’ve been through, including a camping trip you were most certainly not prepared to go to, you’ve decided to skip _this_ one High School experience?” Justin retorts. 

“Who cares about missed High School experiences?” 

“You should,” Justin insists softly. “You’ve made it this far, you might as well enjoy Liberty High to the fullest, man.” 

At that, Clay deflates, dropping his hands. Justin has made an excellent point. Maybe teaching him about properly writing essays was a double-edged knife, after all. Unable to come up with a snide remark, Clay just sinks into his chair, arms crossed, refusing out of pure childish stubbornness. 

Knowing he’s just stalling, Justin pours them both two more drinks. He then sits by Clay’s side, taking a good look at the room, watching it all from Clay’s perspective. He knows he wasn’t just watching a dance prom. The scene unfolding in front of him means so much more. This is a ‘who’s who’ of the students who made it through Liberty despite all the bullying, the harassment, the ninth circle of hell that High School has become. 

_It might get hard when you’re growing older_  
_But I’ll be here and I’ll be your shoulder_  
_I can see it now_  
_I can see it now_  
_And oh my God, hope it never changes_  
_I’ll spend my life trying to recreate this_  
_But I don’t know how_  
_No I don’t know how_

As another song starts to play, this time around, Jessica, bored that her date should have dumped her, makes her way through the crowd and comes running to the table. 

“Are you coming?” she demands, taking Justin’s hands to drag him back. 

“Sure,” says Justin, unable to refuse Jessica anything. It was a nice try attempting to be apart from her, but it was just a fluke, and neither he nor she were strong enough to keep each other at arm’s length for sure. She’s practically glowing in that beautiful dress, hair, and make-up, and he wouldn’t cut her happiness short under any circumstances. 

However, he looks over his shoulder and sees Clay there on his chair, without any intention of moving and joining them. He shrugs off Jessica’s hand and goes back to Clay. Hands in his trousers pockets, he leans forward, just so he can whisper into Clay’s ear. 

“Look to your right. No, the other right--my right.” What was supposed to be a simple enough instruction gets the better of Justin and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re awful with directions,” scowls Clay, finally looking at the direction Justin was interested in. He’s none the wiser, though, and raises his hands in the air. “What am I supposed to see?” 

“Isn’t that Andrea?” Justin asks. 

“And?” Clay retorts, looking at the girl sitting all alone on a table in the corner, in the semidarkness, bouncing her head to the rhythm of the music. Takes one to know one: she’s hiding, too, no doubt. 

“Don’t you have social studies together?” 

“Is there an ending in all this questioning?” 

“You’re the only two people in the whole room not dancing. Go talk to her,” Justin instructs, finally. He grabs Clay’s arm, forcing him to stand, and faces him in Andrea’s direction. 

“No way,” replies Clay, turning around. A panicked look on his face, he tries to shrug Justin’s hands off, to no avail: Jessica’s also there to stop him from fleeing. Hand on her waist, she’s found a renowned reason to appreciate all of Liberty High’s experiences. 

“Yes, way,” Justin says, stopping Clay on his tracks. 

“At the very least, mingle around a little bit,” suggests Jessica. “Socialize.” 

“What do you suggest I tell her?”

“Figure it out yourself,” Justin orders. 

Tired of Clay finding counterarguments for every single idea and suggestion they can come up with, he retorts to give Clay one last push--although it is a physical, actual push, forcing him to move towards Andrea. And before he can complain, even more, Justin grabs Jessica’s arm and takes her back to the dance floor with all of their friends and classmates. 

Albeit the idea was to forget all about Clay, forcing him out of his comfort zone and into an area he would totally enjoy if he weren’t so stubborn and narrow-minded, neither Justin nor Jessica can simply pretend not to be interested. 

“How’s he doing?” he asks Jessica, who’s keeping an eye on Clay over Justin’s shoulder. 

“He’s. . . Actually going in the opposite direction.” 

_“Oh, fucking Clay,”_ scowls Justin, dropping his arms, his mind set to turn around and kick Clay in the ass this time. 

“Hold on!” Jessica begs him, stopping him. “He’s grabbing a couple of drinks.” 

“Atta boy.” 

Approving Clay’s planning, they keep dancing, throwing furtive looks across the room now and then. They do try to be as inconspicuous as possible, though, for Clay’s sake, trying not to get the whole damned Liberty School involved in Clay’s conversation and keeping tabs on him and Andrea. There’s also Ani to consider in the equation. 

In the meantime, the boy in question, unaware of the scrutiny he’s under, has somehow plucked up the courage to walk up to Andrea. 

“Hi there,” he greets, stopping at a respectful distance from her. 

“Hey, Clay. Are you enjoying the dance?” 

“I am, I suppose,” he stutters. 

“You don’t sound very convinced.” 

“Well, I’m not really doing much dancing, am I? There is no way I could go out there. I’m a total klutz and lack the coordination and the courage to even. . . And now I’m babbling,” he realizes, shaking his head and commanding himself to do better. “Sorry.” 

“That’s OK.” 

Trying to figure out what to do with his hands, Clay sees the two glasses he’s still holding. 

“Um, can I offer you a drink? Well, it’s Bolan-approved, so you know it’s not really an alcoholic drink. . . Although, on the other hand, I’m not entirely sure if the definition of ‘a drink’ does necessarily mean an alcoholic beverage. . . Given our social and age group context, we do tend to make that association, I suppose? I could check the Merriam-Webster, perhaps there--”

“You could give me the non-alcoholic soda,” Andrea suggests, with an amused smile reaching a hand for the glass. 

“Right. Sorry,” says Clay, hastily giving her the soda. He feels the blood rushing to his cheeks and thanks the semidarkness they’re hiding in, which might just spare him from Andrea seeing how much he’s sweating. “I was babbling again. That’s going to stop. Right now.” 

“No, it’s alright, Clay,” she laughs, taking a first sip of the drink. “For a soda, it’s pretty good. Thanks.” 

“You’re more than welcome.” 

“Would you like to sit down?” she asks, pointing at the empty seat by her side. 

Clay was just about to accept, but then he squints his eyes. If he sits, no force on Earth will make him leave his seat, even though his conversational skills suck and would drive Andrea crazy within half an hour, with his babbling. 

“Can I make another suggestion?” 

“Oh? What do you have in mind?” 

“Well, seeing that you’re sitting back here on your own, and that I was sitting back there on my own, and that neither of us has presumably brought any dates. . . I was wondering if maybe, only from a sociological point of view, you would. . . Like to. . . Dance?” 

The idea seems to amuse her, which is an improvement from what Clay thought she’d do, that is, flat-out reject and shoot him down. 

“From a sociological point of view, you say?” 

“Sort of an in-field experiment,” Clay explains--having social studies together and being project partners is helping, or so he thinks. “You know, watching how teenagers from sixteen to eighteen act and behave in an environment with loud music, being surrounded by friends, being watched by adult supervision, and only drinking non-alcoholic beverages?” 

Andrea bites her lower lip for two seconds, as if trying to contain a snide remark. 

“It does sound an interesting study,” she says in the end. 

“Shall we?” Clay asks, reaching his hand to help her stand. 

“Let’s.” 

Braver than he’d given her credit for initially, Andrea takes his hand and leads the way, head held high, towards his friends and classmates, the music deafening. His courage vanishes way before they get anywhere near close to the dance floor. 

“I. . . I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t know how to do this,” he blurts out. 

“Clay, do me favor. Look at them all,” Andrea tells him. She takes a couple of steps to stand by Clay’s side and look at what he’s seeing, too. “Do they look like they know what they’re doing? And, more importantly, do they care if they don’t?” 

“I know you want me to say that--”

“One social studies conclusion for you: no one in our generation knows how to dance, that’s a useless skill nowadays,” scowls Andrea with a roll of eyes. “Follow-up question: do they look like they’re having fun?”

Slowly, as Andrea’s arguments sink in, a grin shows on Clay’s face, as well. 

“Alright, then. Let’s go,” he says, taking her hand. “You make very good points. I’m glad we were partners in Social Studies.” 

“Thank you for that compliment.” 

They make their way through the crowd, trying to mix amongst friends and classmates, hiding like a leaf in the woods, and then try their best to let their hair down and actually enjoy the night. 

Clay didn’t even realize he’d walked past Justin and Jessica, but the couple in question had kept tabs on him the whole time. They now watch Clay and Andrea, their initial awkwardness making them chuckle, until they finally move on, realize no one knows what the hell they’re doing out here, and start jumping up and down, carefree movements. 

Justin looks down on his date, giving Jessica the attention she so clearly deserves, looking marvelous in that hair and dress. Also, the bloody lyrics are perfect. He couldn’t have found a better song to dance to with Jessica even if he’d been looking for it for weeks on end, he knows that. 

_You don’t know, babe_  
_When you hold me_  
_And kiss me slowly_  
_It’s the sweetest thing_  
_And it don’t change_  
_If I had it my way_  
_You would know that you are_  
_You’re the coffee that I need in the morning_  
_You’re my sunshine in the rain when it’s pouring_

“I love you, Jess. I love you more than life itself,” he whispers. 

“Don’t _ever_ love anything more than life,” she forbids him with a vehemence that makes him laugh, but he accepts the prohibition gracefully. “Instead, you better hold me, and don’t ever let go.” 

“Okay,” he says, holding Jess a little bit tighter. “I won’t.” 

_I just wanna see_  
_I just wanna see how beautiful you are_  
_You know that I see it_  
_I know you’re a star_  
_Where you go I follow_  
_No matter how far_  
_If life is a movie_  
_Oh you’re the best part_

“Am I dreaming or did I just see Clay dancing with a girl?” demands Tony by their side--he’s dragged Caleb with him just to confirm what his eyes saw a minute ago. 

“No, that was real,” Jessica confirms, laughing. 

“I’ll be damned,” whispers Tony. He whistles, taking a good look at Clay and her date. Alex and Charlie, and then Zach and Tyler, their dances forgotten, approach them too, the same wonder and queries in all of their eyes. Seeing them twirl breezily, hearing their laughter, comes both as a shock and as a delight to them all. 

"Let's crack the champagne," suggests Alex. 

“Our boy has grown up so much,” says Zach in a dramatic sob, hanging an arm around Justin’s shoulders. 

“Yup,” confirms Justin, looking down on Clay and Andrea with a father’s pride. 

“Although, to be honest, I did hear them say something about Social Studies,” chuckles Jessica, just seizing the chance to tease Clay behind his back. 

“He didn’t,” scowls Alex. 

“ _That’s_ his big move? Mix classes with prom?” demands Zach. 

“Hey, if it worked. . .” Justin shrugs, happy for Clay and proud of his success nonetheless. They can make fun at Clay’s expense for as long as they want, they’re not taking this huge success away from him--nor from Clay, either. Although he’ll have to remind his brother that pushing someone around a little bit, sometimes, works. “Now, scatter before he sees all of you gawking and gossiping.” 

Heeding common sense, they all listen to Justin’s orders and scatter around. Justin takes Jessica back into his arms again, swirling in circles, as their friends hurry to disappear amongst the crowd, although Tyler does make a detour to take a picture of Clay and Andrea. The moment does need to be immortalized and this way, it will: there’s no doubt it’ll appear on the yearbook pictures. Better that one dance than having Clay’s breakdown after the shooting drill, no doubt about that. 

Everyone goes back to their partners and their dances, blissfully avoiding any depressing thoughts about the past three years--the present time, that’s all that matters. 

_“JUSTIN!”_

Clay spins as soon as Jessica’s shriek is heard above the roaring music. Peeking through people’s arms and legs, he sees his brother on the floor, Jessica knelt by his side, and Clay dashes forward. Bolan’s asking everyone to stand back, but he slips past easily, dropping on the floor, too. 

“Justin!” Clay yells, desperation in his voice. 

Somehow, Dr. Miller’s instructions come to his frenzied, distressed brain: checks his pulse, pupils, temperature, his breathing. Laine’s hands show up out of nowhere, taking off Justin’s bowtie and unbuttoning his jacket, while Deputy Standall is on the phone with 9-1-1. 

The DJ, out of respect, has stopped the music playing, and their desperate pleas and the conversation with emergencies can be heard across the room. Everyone has stepped back, although Clay sees the gang and closest friends standing side by side, right on the edge of the circle around Justin, as freaked out as they all are. Justin didn’t show any signs of feeling bad earlier, wasn’t running a fever or anything. 

Justin wakes up a couple of minutes later, confused and worried only because of his friends and family’s worried states. By the time the paramedics show up, he’s already saying he’s fine and arguing that he does not need any trips to the ER. 

“You passed out, you’re clearly not alright,” Jessica replies, helping him sit steadily. 

“I’m fine now,” Justin promises. 

“Forgive us for not taking your word for it,” scowls Clay, holding his arm while the paramedics try to assess his blood pressure. 

“Maybe we should get you to the hospital so they run some tests. . .” Lainie tries to suggest, knowing what Justin’s response is going to be. 

“It’s not necessary.” 

“Here,” says Alex, handing them a glass with iced water--a glass that has been passed from hands to hands across the room, from the bar itself. 

“Thanks,” appreciates Justin, drinking half the contents of the glass. 

Finally comes the paramedics’ ruling: it was, more than likely, only a drop of sugar. It does not please Clay or Lainie’s concern, albeit the medics recommend simple measures such as Justin eating a couple of protein bars, drinking a Coke, and resting properly. 

Just to be sure, they take Justin outside, where the night breeze might help his dizziness, as well as being away from everyone else’s curious and morbid stares. Only Jessica, Lainie, and Clay follow, the latter carrying a Coke can and a couple of protein bars he got from the vending machine. 

Helping Justin sit on the steps to the gym, the family members also seize the privacy of the parking lot to share with the paramedics their true concerns regarding Justin’s passing out and his HIV condition. 

“Shouldn’t be related, but to be on the safe side, check with your doctor and have her run some tests if she seems so fit.” 

“Are you sure he doesn’t need to go to the hospital?” presses Lainie. 

“I don’t,” Justin promises. 

“She wasn’t asking you,” Clay scowls, letting the paramedics give their assurances to ease Lainie’s concerns. 

After a few more minutes, seeing that the colors are back on Justin’s face, the medics climb back onto the ambulance and leave Liberty property. 

“I’m going to call your father,” says Lainie, cell phone in hand. She doesn’t let Justin argue she shouldn’t worry Matt unnecessarily--he should know if one of his kids has passed out at school. “Will you be alright, honey?” 

“We’ll stay with him, Mom, don’t worry,” says Clay. 

“And make sure he eats all of that,” promises Jessica, gently caressing Justin’s shoulder. 

“Alright. Thank you.” 

She vanishes into the parking lot, cell phone against her ear, while Justin, Clay, and Jessica remain on the steps, the former slowly drinking and eating. They can almost hear his thoughts, complaining they’ve blown a fainting way out of proportion, but knows better than to utter those words aloud. Instead, he keeps his head down and keeps on drinking the Coke and eating the protein bar. 

Inside, the music has swelled up again--a simple fainting hasn’t put a stop to all the dancing and having fun, luckily. When he’s finished eating, Clay takes the plastic wrapping paper and the can and goes to the recycling bins. 

“You sure know how to be the center of attention,” scowls Clay when he sits back on his spot on the stairs. 

“Sorry about that,” chuckles Justin--the light blush on his cheeks a very good sign. 

“Don’t apologize. Just refrain from complaining tomorrow when we see Dr. Miller.” 

Justin shakes his head but tries to begin, right here and now, to keep his complaints about his family’s worry to a bearable minimum. He’s still learning that it all comes from a place of love and caring he didn’t know before living with the Jensens. 

“We should go in,” he says instead. “I am not done dancing with you.” 

“Take it easy,” begs Jessica as Justin tried to drag them all back inside. 

“Shouldn’t you apologize to Andrea for standing her up like that?” 

“I. . . Hadn’t thought about that,” confesses Clay, his heart skipping a beat at that. He’d been too worried altogether for Justin to concern himself about anything else. 

_And here's to the nights_  
_We felt alive_  
_Here's to the tears_  
_You knew you'd cry_  
_Here's to goodbye_  
_Tomorrow's gonna come too soon_

As they re-enter the gym, they realize life is back to normal. Or almost: the gang was waiting for them by the door to check on Justin as soon as he showed his face again. And Andrea was keeping an eye on the door and excuses herself from a group of friends to meet them all, as well. 

Clay lets Justin and Jessica give all the explanations needed and meets Andrea halfway, not ready yet to introduce her to everybody else. Luckily, he had no reason to panick: Andrea only shows concern for Justin and not annoyance for Clay standing her up without a single word. 

“Clay. Thank God. Is Justin alright?” 

“He is,” he promises, looking at his brother over the shoulder. “We Jensens are a strong bunch, don’t you worry. What do you say? Another dance?” 

“Seems you’re taking a liking to dancing in the end, huh?” 

“Perhaps. Are you in or are you out?” Clay demands. 

“In, of course!” 

The whole gang follows them back to the dance floor and they join their friends and classmates as if nothing had happened. The disappearance of Justin’s bowtie is the only signal that something went array at any moment, but seeing him enjoying prom as much as everybody else, no one would say half an hour earlier he’d passed out. 

_Here’s a toast_  
_To all those who hear me all too well_  
_And here’s to the nights_  
_We felt alive_  
_Here’s to the tears_  
_You knew you’d cry_  
_Here’s to goodbye_  
_Tomorrow's gonna come too soon…_

A little bit later, Justin sits to catch his breath by Lanie’s table, who’s kept a close eye on Justin since they returned to the dance. He eases her worries, promising once again that he feels much better now. . . And asks her to dance. Clay would later also dance with Lainie, of course. 

Even if Justin’s trying a little bit too hard, he wants to erase any traces of worry or concern from his friends’ and family members’ faces tonight. If this is the last High School experience they’re going to get, they better enjoy it to the fullest, every single moment. One last night here at Liberty. One almost perfect and wonderful night, an unforgettable experience. One good memory to erase everything else they went through while they were students here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: our characters, Justin INCLUDED, graduate !


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graduation is here !! 
> 
> This one pretty much follows the same events as in the show's graduation ceremony: I included Jess' and Clay's speeches, Heidi, burying the tapes. . . With, of course, one major and significant change: JUSTIN FREAKING LIVES AND GETS TO GRADUATE LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE. 
> 
> Also, Mrs. Baker makes an appearance.

In the midst of raucous applause for Jessica’s speech, Clay stands, next in line, as class president. He checks his tie and clears his throat, uneasy in front of all the students, parents, other family members, and friends. He’s got a copy of his speech folded in a paper up his sleeve, but he’s gone over it so many freaking times, he doubts he’ll ever need it.   
  
He waits till the applause, cheering, and whooping subsides, and begins his speech.   
  
“It comes down to one question. Will you survive high school? Will I survive? Because I know too many people who didn't.”   
  
Taking a pause, because the whole damn School knows who he’s talking about exactly, Clay looks at the one person in the crowd. Justin. Sitting there amidst friends and classmates, head held high, smiling broadly from his seat. Clay is so thankful he can call Justin his brother, and for the fact that, despite everything that’s happened, Justin isn’t one more number on the students’ death toll Liberty High has to answer to.   
  
“In the past two years, two people who I loved have died,” Clay resumes. “And, as if the universe needed some kind of balance, two… Two other people… Who I thought I hated, also died. But I learned that hate is too simple.”   
  
Bryce and Monty did horrible things, that’s for sure. But neither them, nor Hannah, nor Jeff, deserved to die. No matter how bad things got. People were right on that account—Jessica was right. Hate is easy, whereas love and understanding are harder. Justin needed to knock some sense into him to make him understand Bryce wasn’t 100% a bad person, that he had good traits, that he was missed, that people loved him. Hannah and Jeff had probably done things they regretted, too.   
  
Moreover, Clay knew he wasn’t a role model on perfect behavior, nor an excellent, impeccable moral compass--he’d done some shady things in the past he wasn’t proud of, either. And that’s what he was trying to convey with his final speech at Liberty: that love and understanding are how we take care of each other, how we survive.   
  
“My Dad loves to tell me stories about when he was in High School. The stories usually involve chess club and obscure bands with funny haircuts, because the ‘80s were a strange, strange time.” His remarks made the whole audience sneer and chuckle, Justin included, for he’d heard a few stories and anecdotes from their father since he’d moved in. “But he always gets one thing right. He knows High School can hurt.”   
  
This freaking generation has known more about pain and hurt and suffering than possibly any previous Liberty High generation--more than they deserved, that’s for sure. High School, for them, did become life and death. And even if their parents’ and Principal Bolan’s intentions were honorable, thinking of the students’ sake, they only managed to make matters worse with their horrible and terrifying measures.   
  
However, as his father told him, they’re all living proof that they can make it. They can survive, get through it all. And if Clay’s learned one thing--beyond all the essays and exams he endured the past four years--thanks to High School, is that he needs to keep moving. Whatever shit storm life throws at them, they need to get through it. They’re resilient. They’ve proved well and beyond that they’re strong and capable and brave.   
  
“Choose to live,” says Clay, with as much vehemence as he can. Whatever Hannah was going through, suicide is not an option. He now knows that. “’Cause even on the worst day, there are people who love you. There’s new music waiting for you to hear, some… Something you haven’t seen before that will blow your mind in the best way. Even on the worst day, life is a pretty spectacular thing.”   
  
His speech finished, he bids farewell by wishing his friends and classmates good luck. There’s more cheering, applause, whooping, and whistling as he returns to his seat by Jessica’s side, who nudges against his side to congratulate him on a job well done.   
  
Through the speakers, Vampire Weekend’s Unbelievers start playing to announce the end of the ceremony--however, the music doesn’t deafen the cheering completely. By the third row, Justin’s cheering the loudest, up on his chair, clapping and whooping, making the colors rush to Clay’s cheeks. He appreciates his encouragement, though. He always does.   
  
“Nice speech, Jensen,” says Justin when he meets Clay a little bit later, after the traditional graduation cap throwing and losing them, in turn. “I mean, it was super dark, and a little meandering, but very… You.”   
  
“Thanks?” chuckles Clay, accepting a bear hug from his brother.   
  
The crowd of students and families meeting at the football pitch are slowly making their way into the gym. There’s a small brunch set up there for the final act of the ceremony, and it also helps to get away from the blazing sun.   
  
Of course, the usual hugs and gestures of affection, pictures, and other embarrassing family moments ensue all over the gym--varying proud and joyful speeches and gestures on such a wonderful day like today. It is an unavoidable part of the graduation ceremony that Clay and Justin cannot waver, either. Not that they’d want to. It’s as Justin said at Prom, or as Clay has just said in his speech a couple of minutes ago: they made it so far, they better enjoy every single second of it all.   
  
Friends, classmates, teachers, and even Dean Bolan approach Clay and his family to congratulate him on the beautiful, inspiring speech. All around them, conversations about their futures seem to be the main theme subject amongst family members: jobs, College, future subjects, plans for their future.   
  
“Hey, have you seen Mrs. Baker by any chance?” Clay asks, looking all around the gym.   
  
“Mrs. Baker?” Lainie repeats, her voice a whisper.   
  
“Did she come?” Justin asks. 

“Saw her from the dais,” Clay says, as surprised as his family members are. In the letter she wrote to him, along with the tapes, she had told him she’d be here, but he wasn’t too sure. He would have understood if she hadn’t come. There was no reason for Mrs. Baker to will herself to attend a graduation ceremony where her daughter wasn’t amongst the graduating students. “I hope she didn’t leave without saying any…” 

He finally sees her, standing awkwardly in a corner of the gym, without the energy or the strength to mingle amongst any of the students or teachers. Her eyes red and puffy, she’s holding onto her handbag like a liferaft, her gaze fixed on him. 

The invitation clear, Clay doesn’t even excuse himself to his parents and heads towards Mrs. Baker’s position. The music’s still playing and there’re dozens of conversations taking place all around the gym, but it seems as if Clay and Mrs. Baker have entered their special, private bubble, of silence and privacy. Everyone else is maintaining a five-foot radio distance. 

“Mrs. Baker.” 

“Hello, Clay,” she greets him with a soft, low voice. She goes for the hug and he accepts it, knowing it comes from a place of, if not love, at the very least care. “I heard your speech. It was lovely.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m so proud of you. Hannah would be too, you know? You’ve made it.” Her voice breaks at the end of the sentence and she gets a tissue to wipe the tears running down her cheeks, ruining her mascara. 

At the mention of Hannah, Clay breathes in and out slowly, trying to soothe down. In the meantime, Mrs. Baker takes a few seconds looking around, taking in the decorations and the graduation gowns her daughter should have worn, too. She should have been here, as well. She should have made it, even though it was hard as hell for Clay and all of his classmates. As Jessica said, people _are_ missing. Four, to be precise. 

However, he can’t bring himself to say those words. He can’t decide if they’re appropriate or not, if they’d be helpful or harmful. 

“And you’re completely right,” Mrs. Baker says, saving him from saying the completely wrong thing. “Your generation has got it so difficult on every major aspect, but you have to keep moving forward. No matter what… Doesn’t matter how challenging it gets, you have to keep going. You do believe that, don’t you, Clay?” 

“Of course,” he says, taking the hands that were reaching for him. He didn’t bullshit the speech with his father’s stupid anecdotes or false hope. This is the one lesson he takes from Liberty High—one that he learned the hard way. “I do.” 

“Good,” approves Mrs. Baker. 

A few awkward moments pass, but thankfully Jessica saves the day by showing up out of nowhere, asking Mrs. Baker how she’s doing. The woman brushes the question off and, instead, inquires about Jessica and Clay—what’re their future plans, where are they going to College. Throughout the conversation, Tony shows up too, giving Mrs. Baker a heartfelt hug. 

The four of them talk for some minutes, catching up. After some more minutes of catching up and a few more congratulatory remarks on them all for graduating, and Jessica and Clay in particular for both their speeches, Mrs. Baker bids them farewell. On a final note, she begs them that they should count on her and contact her if they need anything at all in the future. 

“Thank you,” Clay appreciates. 

“We’ll have it in mind,” nods Tony. 

“Good luck, Mrs. Baker,” Jessica says, giving her one more hug. 

“Likewise, dear.” 

Sniffling, Mrs. Baker offers them a sad smile and hangs her handbag from her shoulder, apparently having a hard time turning towards the door to her right. Tony offers her his arm to walk her out of the gym. Behind them, Clay and Jessica clasp hands, letting out a deep breath of air. If they thought writing and delivering their speeches was going to be a struggle, they had nothing on this latest conversation with Mrs. Baker. Her not meeting Principal Bolan was probably for the best, or else this conversation could have had a very different ending. 

“You two okay?” Justin asks, checking on them both with concern in his eyes.   
  
“All’s good,” nods Clay. “Just wanted to wish us luck.”   
  
“That’s nice of her,” approves Justin, his arm over Clay’s neck to drag him away from the door and the spot where they’d been talking to Hannah’s mother. “Now, we better say goodbye to our parents.”   
  
When they turn around to the gym, Clay realizes that the scene has changed quite a bit during their conversation. The gym’s slowly emptying of graduated students, friends, family members, and other acquaintances. Lainie and Matt are standing by the table he left them off at before seeing Mrs. Baker, and as soon as Justin and Clay reappear, they start talking about dinner options to properly celebrate today.   
  
“That sounds great,” says Clay, interrupting his father’s proposal of home-made pizzas and movie night. “But before all of that, we have to go do something completely legal with our friends.”   
  
Only two seconds after the words are out of his mouth he realizes his phrasing didn’t really sound quite so innocent—and instead of helping to ease his parents’ concerns, he’s only created worry in their minds, now. And that’s exactly the very last thing any of them needs right after they’ve gotten their parents’ trust back and slowly mending all the burnt bridges caused by all the lies and secrets held over the past couple of years.   
  
“Nicely done, you smart-ass,” scowls Justin under his breath. He walks forward and hastily mends Clay’s poorly chosen words. “Don’t mind him. We’re just grabbing some coffee at Monét’s and drive around town a little bit. You know, taking it all in. We’ll be back home in time for dinner.”   
  
“Okay,” accepts Lainie, looking at them both alternatively as if choosing whose explanation they should believe.   
  
“See you later.”   
  
They split ways but, after a few steps, Justin comes to a halt and spins. He fidgets, trying to find the words, and then decides that simple is best—something he learned from Clay, actually, and the essence of writing good essays. 

“Uh. . . Thank you, guys,” he says. “For everything.” 

“Of course, kiddo,” nods Matt. 

“We love you both so much,” Lainie says, unable to fight off the tears. “You both did so well. Always remember that.” 

“Yeah, we will,” says Clay, grabbing tightly his mother’s hand. “Love you, too.” 

“You guys feeling the family hug?” Justin asks, throwing his arms in the air already. 

Clay groans and shakes his head, but he wasn’t really refusing—knew in advance he didn’t have a choice. He falls into a family hug easily, and for a second, he doesn’t care at all about his friends and classmates possibly watching them. 

As a matter of fact, the gang—including Courtney, Ryan, or Ani—was waiting for them by the benches. Waiting patiently for everyone to file out of the gym, in particular all of their parents. They seize the alone time to do what every student must be doing at this moment and time, that is, expressing future hopes and wishes. Such as Tyler’s hope of taking pictures that matter to somebody, or Ani’s wish to make enough money so her mother doesn’t have to work anymore, which Tony agrees to. 

“Move over,” Justin indicates, forcing Jess to scoot to the side so he can sit, too. 

They’re not ready to leave, just yet. There’s no rush. This is also a moment to reflect, wonder at everything they’ve fucking been through, endured, and survived. On that note, Justin throws his arm over Jessica’s shoulder, and Clay takes Justin’s free hand. Grateful that, despite all of their history, they’ve made it so far. They’re alive. What else is there to say? 

“So, are we going to do this or not?” Zach demands. 

“Yes,” says Alex, standing. 

“Let’s go,” Tony agrees, applauding the decision made. 

They all follow Zach’s example and stand, Justin, going a little bit over the top and jumping off the steps to take Jessica by the waist and help her down the benches. Taking a good look around, they can only see smiles—a rare sight where those forsaken tapes are concerned, no doubt. 

“Clay? Are you Clay Jensen?” someone asks behind their backs. 

When Justin and Jessica look over their shoulders, they see they’ve lost Clay somewhere halfway to the gym exit. He’s talking to a nervous-looking girl, with brown, long hair down to her shoulders, a grey sweatshirt, and a white shirt with stars. Although, of course, it would be more accurate to say that she’s doing all the talking. 

“Who is she?” Tony asks in a whisper. 

“I know as much as you do,” Justin confesses, shrugging. He hasn’t set eyes on that student before and, judging by everyone else’s faces, no one knows her, either. And albeit Clay seems incapable of actually putting in a word, the whole thing is a first for him. 

“Hate to say this, but we really should get going,” Jessica points out. 

“Yeah, I don’t really fancy staying here for half an hour listening to Clay stutter and fail at flirting,” scowls Alex. 

“Justin, you’re going to have to give him some pointers,” Ryan remarks. 

“Listen, I’m doing everything I can,” the boy in question chuckles. “I can give him all the dating advice I can, although I’ll confess I’m not really a role model where it comes to girlfriends and dating, but I cannot change who Clay is. Wouldn’t want to, either.” 

“Very honorable,” Zach approves, patting Justin on the back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. . . Jensen! Are we going or not?” he yells across the gym. 

Clay spins towards their direction and they can almost see the surprise in his eyes—could he, in the course of that brief conversation, have forgotten about what they’d agreed to do? A bit exasperated, he waves at them, as if asking for one more minute of patience, or maybe that they should just go ahead and wait for him at the parking lot. Justin, figuring they’ve meddled in long enough, leads the way out, making sure no one lingers behind, for Clay’s sake. 

True to his word, Clay comes out of the gym about two minutes later. He blushes a little bit under everyone’s stares and all the teasing at the tip of their tongues, but keeps his head held high as he walks straight towards the car. 

“You can all fucking stop gossiping behind my back, now, thank you,” he scowls, one hand on the door handle. “Weren’t you in a rush five minutes ago?” 

At that, every single question and joke they’d wanted to make vanishes from their brains, and, following Clay’s example, they all climb into their respective cars. On the Jensen brother’s case, it’s Justin the one to drive this time around—Clay, sitting on the passenger’s seat, holds tight to the shoebox with all of Hannah’s tapes. Given the circumstances, Justin remains silent during the trip, too. It all seems too important and emotional to fill in the silence with trivial questions about the girl from earlier. 

It was Clay who suggested the mountain top over the city as the place where those tapes should be buried to rest. For that reason, they’ve come prepared with several shovels and trowels, although they really do not need to dig too deep of a grave. Clay finally kneels on the ground to lay the shoebox inside. 

When he stands, he reaches a hand out for Justin and he takes it. “This is where I first listened to my tape.” 

Justin feels Clay tensing by his side, and sees one strange look on Tony’s face. A while back, Tony told him he’d been with Clay when he’d first heard his tape. Justin’s grateful knowing Clay had had by his side such a good friend as Tony, back when Clay and Justin were nothing short of enemies. He can only imagine how much tape #11 affected Clay and what sort of a response he could have had during that one. Judging by Tony’s reaction, all this time later, it wasn’t pretty. The tapes messed with freaking everybody. 

“And this is where we lay them to rest,” says Justin, trying to make a point. Clay gets it, of course, and nods in response. 

He didn’t belong in the tapes, in the first place. And still, he had to sit through those thirteen reasons. He had to listen first-hand the words of the girl he loved, a girl who was no longer with them, explaining at great length why so many people had hurt her and failed her. At the same time, Justin and everyone else involved in those forsaken tapes kept messing with him. No wonder he went crazy and had nervous breakdowns day in and day out. 

Tony walks up to Clay’s side, patting his shoulder encouragingly. “Rest in peace.” 

“And good fucking riddance,” Jessica adds under her breath. The feeling is unanimous, as proven by all the nodding heads, the sniffling, the soft chuckles. No one wants to see or hear those tapes ever again. Let the dead stay buried—no haunting ghosts, no night terrors, no more hallucinations, or breakdowns. Let the past stay in the fucking past. 

“Come on, people,” says Zach, grabbing his shovel again. “Let’s pile on the closure dirt.” 

They all set back to work and soon enough the tapes are buried under an even amount of dirt. The weather and time will make sure no one ever finds anything remarkable about this one spot and the neighbors who in the future climb up the hill will only do so for a small, leisure, sight-seeing stop. 

Wiping the dirt off his hands, Cla picked up his jacket and walked off the road. The setting sun hitting him directly in the eye, he looked down on the town at their feet, and felt, for the first time he could remember, the town where he’d been born seemed small and tiny. As if he’d already seen every nook and cranny, and felt ready to leave his hometown. 

Gradually, his friends join him by the fence—Justin, as always, finds a spot by his side, just in case he needed him. Splitting up to go to College is going to be hard for both of them, just when they’d gotten used to living together, to each other’s quirks and habits, and were used to spending almost every waking minute together. 

“All the shit that never would’ve happened,” Zach scowls. 

“This is so cliché, but what I’m taking from all of this is the journey,” says Clay. “And the friends we made.” 

“Jesus Christ, Clay,” scoffs Alex, shaking his head. 

“What? Jessica said the same in her speech,” Clay defends his point. “Love is the greatest thing in the universe. Come on, two years ago, I never would have thought I’d have a brother, or that I’d be hanging out with sports star Zach Dempsey, or with girls like Ani and Jessica.” 

“He’s right,” says the latter, linking her arm with Ani. “Hadn’t it been for those forsaken tapes, we never would have been friends.” 

“If anyone ever needs any help, anytime, anyplace, just send a group text, say, ‘Gordon Lightfoot,’, alright?” says Tyler. 

“Right on,” accepts Alex. 

“Wait. What?” asks Ryan, completely at a loss. 

“It’s the strangest fucking codeword,” scowls Clay, shaking his head, and murmurs of agreement raise from all of his friends. No one can truly remember who in the world came up with that codeword, and it would be difficult to explain it all to Ryan and Courtney, who’ve missed quite a lot on this Senior Year. 

And yet, the feeling prevails. What with the tapes, what with everything they’ve been through, they’ve made friends for life. They will stick together, doesn’t matter how far apart they come to live, and help each other out when they struggle. Having each other’s backs is more important, they know now, than any essays or grades or exams. This group will always be prioritized over anything else in times of strive. 

An analogy to the “Three Musketeers” literature and the promise they’ve just made comes to mind, but for once, Clay decides to keep it to himself and not ruin the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it ! 
> 
> While writing this chapter I realized I wasn't yet ready to say goodbye to these characters and especially the Jensen brothers, so. . . Yeah, I'm writing one last final slash epilogue. (Also, don't ask me why, but I've got an irrational hatred towards the number 3, hence I couldn't possibly end this story in chapter 23). 
> 
> So, one last chapter to go !


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jensen brothers go on a road trip. . . Although College is not the destination !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter ! (Unfortunately... I miss them already...) 
> 
> This is pretty much a summarization of Clay/Justin dynamics and the so many things left unsaid with Justin's death in the show. As you all well know, I'm still in denial regarding the way they killed him off in season 4, so here's me channeling all that horror into a beautiful work where he lives and freaking goes to College.

“Here are your sandwiches,” says Matt, handing them to Justin. Knelt on the sidewalk, he’s preparing a small backpack and he adds now the aforementioned sandwiches, along with a couple of bottles of water, some napkins, and some highly unhealthy snacks. It’s best to take it all from home and save as much money as possible—Justin insisted on having as many shifts at Monét’s as possible since their classes ended. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to fly there?” Lainie asks for what feels like the umpteenth time. “We can still get you both tickets.” 

“No, it’s alright,” says Clay, throwing his travel bag onto the back seats. The rough treatment gets him a roll of eyes from his mother, thinking of the neatly-folded clothes Clay’s got there, but they’ve got bigger fish to fry at the moment. “A, there won’t be any plane tickets left, now. And B, Justin and I feel like driving.” 

“That’s right,” confirms Justin, a reassuring smile on his face. “Just two bros chilling on a drive car, listening to some music, and enjoying some quality brotherly time.” 

“We’ll be fine,” Clay settles. 

“Do you have enough money?” asks Matt. With the wallet in his hand, he takes two twenty-dollar bills and hands them to Clay and Justin apiece. 

“I’m sure we do, but thanks, anyway,” says Clay. 

He gives their father the benefit of a five-second hesitation before actually taking the money and splitting it up with Justin. As they put the money away, they hear Lainie sniffling, which causes in turn some rolls of eyes, deep sighs, and even some soft chuckles. Matt walks up to his wife and caresses her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her down, trying his best not to tease her about it. 

“Mom, please,” says Clay. “Do not cry. Consider this a test run for what you _mustn't_ do when we _actually_ go to College.” 

“We’ll be back in three to five days,” Justin says, leaning to give their mother a warm hug. “And we’ll have a proper goodbye dinner and party, don’t you worry.” 

“Be safe,” Lainie begs, walking them both to the car and getting the door open for Justin. Clay follows suit, walking up to the other side of the car—he’ll be driving for the first shift. “Drive under the speed limit, don’t drink, and don’t do drugs, you hear me?” 

“Are we allowed to have fun?” Clay demands. 

“Yes, you can enjoy the trip as much as you can,” approves Lainie with a nod of her head. Clay's been dying to go on this particular car trip for weeks on end, now, and despite Justin's initial reluctance towards the idea, Matt and Lainie are certain the two boys will have a blast. Clay always did, after all, and his excitement is infectious.

“In fact, we _urge_ you to have as much fun as possible,” Matt says. “We know you’re both two very responsible adults and we trust you’ll be fine.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Call us when you get there, though.” 

“Or just send us a text,” mends Lainie, knowing there’s a very high possibility they’ll forget about calling or texting altogether.

“We will,” says Justin, who for one doesn’t want to worry their parents unnecessarily. 

“And, on that note, we’re leaving, now,” settles Clay, jumping into his seat. 

He checks the seat’s distance from the pedals and the wheel, then the three rearview mirrors, and finally puts on the seatbelt. By his side, Justin waits silently and patiently, a tiny smile on his lips, knowing that Clay couldn’t, for the life of him, drive anywhere without undertaking all of those small security checks. 

“What is it?” Justin asks when Clay freezes. 

“Before we go—you do have your meds, right?” 

“Of course, I do,” he says, patting his travel back. He made sure, this time around. 

“Good,” Clay approves, turning the ignition key. The car comes to life and Justin rolls down his window to waves their parents goodbye. He stays there, leaning against the windowsill, as their home gets smaller and smaller by the second. 

Hs hair willowing in the hot summer breeze, Justin watches the streets and houses pass by—a neighborhood he’d never thought he’d set foot in, much less live in, where he’d have a family. He’d once tried to flee and came back at his brother’s asking for help, oblivious still to how much Clay and his folks already meant to him. Now that he’s found home and a caring family, feels strange living them all on his own volition. 

_You’re only leaving for five days tops. No need to be so dramatic,_ he reminds himself, with a soft chuckle. Still, he didn’t know it’d feel this way. The day they do leave for College will be interesting, no doubt. 

He retreats to his seat and rolls up the window, appreciating the AC. Clay sends him a curious look, equally broad smiles on both their faces. Despite leaving home, they feel elated, content, and, no doubt, eager to reach their destination. Originally, they’d thought about inviting the whole gang and making an excursion out of it, as a treat, for graduating and soon leaving for College. Deep down, Justin’s happy and relieved that they decided against it and chose a simple two-men excursion. A trip amongst brothers was exactly what they needed. 

Some minutes later, under Clay’s careful and minute driving, they reach the outskirts of town and, in unison, they both breathe out deeply. They relax on their seats, although they hadn’t been aware they’d been so tense, to begin with. The consequences of this fucking town, they laugh. 

“I can’t believe in three weeks we’ll be leaving for good,” says Clay, looking at their hometown through the rearview window—a shared feeling, no doubt. 

“Yep. We did it, Jensen,” says Justin, clapping his hands on his thighs. He’d bump Clay’s shoulder if he didn’t know such an irresponsible action would be followed by a ten-minute lecture on safe driving. “We’re finally getting out of this fucking town.”  
“We made it out alive,” nods Clay, remembering that one distant day at Monét’s, after Tyler’s photography show, where Justin, Jessica, and he talked about life’s meaning. “I know you said struggles are sort of the point of life, but shit! I’m so. . . Fucking. . . Tired.” 

“Should I drive for a while?” Justin offers, uselessly—Clay’s been driving for less than fifteen minutes straight. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Yeah, I know,” nods Justin—he knows exactly what Clay meant. He also understands fully his meaning. After everything they’ve been through, he feels nowhere prepared to fly off to College and leave their folks in less than a month. “But, remember, that I am I and my circumstances.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” scowls Clay. “You’re quoting Ortega y Gasset right now?” 

“Blame yourself and your teaching skills for that one, dude,” says Justin, shrugging, without the hint of remorse in his voice or face. He will not apologize for learning so much under Clay’s wonderful tutelage. “He was right, though. We are where we are because, and thanks to, what we’ve been through. We wouldn’t be brothers hadn’t it been for those forsaken tapes. Talk about the butterfly effect.” 

“You’ve got a point there,” Clay concedes. 

Seizing the fact that he’s driving on a straight and level road right now, Clay reaches his hand to grab Justin’s for a few seconds. At that moment, Justin’s gaze falls upon that tattoo Clay got on his wrist, that small semicolon, and wonders how on Earth has the universe screwed things up so badly for Clay, two years later of getting that tattoo, to be on the same emotional turmoil—if not worse. 

“You know it better than I do. Life moves on, man,” Justin says, looking at that punctuation mark on his wrist. It came as a shock back when Clay told him about it—such an A+ student like Clay getting a fucking tattoo?—but he understood its importance easily enough. 

“Yeah. The story’s not over, yet.” 

“Far from it,” insists Justin. “With any luck, we’ll annoy each other till we’re a hundred.” 

“Actually, the life expectancy for men in the US…” 

“Could care less about what the statistics say. Even when our kids put us in a home, we’ll keep pestering each other, don’t you worry.” 

“Till death us do part, huh?” Clay teases. 

“That’s right. Sorry to disappoint.” 

“Don’t judge me for what I’m about to say, but—“ 

“You know I won’t.” 

“But this whole thing scares me a little bit,” confesses Clay as if Justin hadn’t interrupted, because he did know Justin wouldn’t judge him or think badly of him for anything he’d say or do. “How am I supposed to do this without you?” 

“Want to know why I’m not scared?” says Justin, nonchalant demeanor. 

“Reveal your secrets, oh, wise man,” Clay begs with a dramatic voice. 

”I’m not scared, because I’ve still got you. And you still have me, man.” 

“Right. On fucking opposite sides of the country. That _ought_ to be helpful.” 

“No more than a seven-hour flight,” Justin insists. “Also, there’s the email, you know. And phones. And Skype. We live in the day of communication and technologies, everything’s possible. Just send me a text or a phone call, any time, any day, and I’ll answer.” 

After that, Clay falls silent, concentrating on the driving. Justin watches him biting his lower lip, knowing Clay’s not done arguing, but gives him his own time overtaking several cars and trucks. He knows Clay’s not about to disagree with the means of communication at their disposal—heck, he’d even send him hand-written letters if it came to it. It’s just nerves. Pre-College nerves, that’s all. 

“You’ve saved me so many times. . .” whispers Clay after returning to his lane. “More times than you know.” 

“You’ve saved me at least as many. What’s your point?” 

“Don’t you ever leave me,” Clay begs. 

“I just told you—I won’t. Ever,” Justin promises, solemn and serious voice. “So long as you don’t leave me, either, bro.” 

He’ll settle with Clay nodding a few times, for he looks just about ready to burst into tears if he attempts to talk out loud. Only to deescalate the seriousness of the conversation, Justin grabs his phone and connects their shared Spotify account, letting the pop music distract them from the unpleasant memories and the sour subject. 

It does help: in the privacy of the car, just like they’ve done dozens of times in the privacy of the outer house, they sing at the top of their lungs, joyful, free from anyone’s judgment. Bruno Mars’ Grenade, James Blunt’s Stay The Night, Kate Perry’s Teenage Dream, and a very appropriate—or perhaps inappropriate—Lily Allen’s Fuck You, play on and on, in a special selection they spent hours preparing for the car drive. 

“Speaking of life moving on,” says Justin after a while, turning down the volume, “what’s going on with that girl from graduation? Heidi?” 

He can see Clay’s jaw clenching, holding the wheel tighter, to the point where his knuckles turn white. “We’ve been exchanging some emails about the catalog and whatnot.” 

“That’s it?” 

“What else is there to talk about? I haven’t even moved in yet, I don’t know the campus or anything. We cannot exchange advice and tidbits about College life.” 

“Have you asked her for her number?” 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“And I understand you haven’t asked her out, either? Sorry, scratch that,” he begs before Clay complains about his choice of words. “I meant gone out with her for a coffee.” 

“You mean getting a coffee at Monét’s, where the entire fucking town can supervise everything we do and say?” 

“There are three dozen more places you could go to. I’ll give you a list.” 

“I don’t need—”

“You’re right, that’s not the main issue at stake, here,” Justin agrees in a chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, man, if you keep playing safe your whole life, it’ll pass before your eyes without you knowing it.” 

“Now you’re quoting Ferris Bueller? Who are you again?” 

“Stop dodging the question,” scowls Justin, now losing his patience a little bit—Clay was just stalling, this time around. 

“I’m trying not to make a classic mistake,” Clay says. “I fall in love with girls too fast, too deep, and it always ends badly. How much I hurt. . . With Hannah. It’s my own, damn fault, Justin, one that I’m not keen to make again so soon. My track record is pretty gruesome. Who was the one who said that we need to learn from our mistakes?” 

“No idea, I’m not a walking Encyclopedia like you just yet,” scowls Justin. “And who said that everyone makes mistakes—and everyone deserves a second chance?” 

“Mo’ne Davis,” Clay whispers under his breath, hating the fact that he does know the answer. The irony makes Justin snort. 

“Perhaps you can’t see it yet, but this is another classic Clay—worrying over stuff that hasn’t happened yet,” he chuckles, not at all surprised by this point. “Let’s analyze it all step by step. Point A: no one’s saying you’ve got to marry that girl. Point B: however, you shouldn’t keep her, or every other girl you might meet in the future, at arm’s length, just because you’re scared. Point C: as I told you, you can take whatever time you need, but at some point, you’ve got to come out of your comfort zone and dive in. It’s scary, I won’t deny it, but rest assured, there is water in the pool, and even if you fall in badly, hearts mend. That, I promise.” 

“That was. . . Very well-argued,” Clay says after a little while. 

“Learned from the best,” Justin chuckles at Clay’s incredulity. 

After that little speech, Clay falls silent. Justin doesn’t pressure him, he just turns up the music’s volume, and lets Clay ponder what he just said. In fact, they steer away from that subject altogether and, by the time they stop at a service area to eat lunch, they have yet to bring it up again. 

They eat the lunch Matt and Lainie prepared for them and then Justin sits behind the wheel, letting Clay doze off by his side now and then. They spend the afternoon taking turns driving, arguing over the GPS directions, and singing their specially-prepared music selection, with some Clay-mandatory stops at sight-seeing spots. The sun has long set when they reach the roadside motel they’d booked a room for the night—although they could have reached their destination straight away, their parents felt much better knowing they would stop to sleep properly. Not to mention, this way they could account for Clay’s stops throughout the trip. 

In an attempt to stretch their legs after so many hours in the car, they walk up to a Burger King for dinner. Justin makes a point to text their parents to let them know they've reached the motel safe and sound, and finds himself under the position of promising they’ll give them a call in the morning, as well, albeit it’s impossible to predict if Justin or Clay will in fact make the time for that phone call. 

Back at their shared room in the motel, they finish the extra bag of fries they ordered to take away, lying over the creaking bed, while watching a crappy and humorless ‘80s sitcom. However, Justin’s attention is swiftly shifted by the costume Clay’s hanging on the cupboard, covered in a tailor’s plastic bag to protect it. 

“I cannot believe you’re going to wear that, tomorrow,” Justin says between mouthfuls, staring at the Star Trek costume with a funny look. 

“Listen, either we’re going big, or we’re going back home in the morning,” argues Clay, sitting by Justin’s side. He steals some of the fries and moves out of Justin’s reach before he tries to get them back by force. “I skipped Comic-Con two years on a row, already. The first time, you’d just gotten out of juvie, there was Hannah’s funeral, and you’d just moved in after you’d accepted to be adopted by our family. Last year, we missed the opportunity altogether, because it didn’t feel right. So, this year, we’re celebrating graduating from High School the big way. And, don’t worry, you _are_ going to have a blast.” 

“That a promise or a threat?” 

“Your pick,” Clay shrugs. He stands to close the cupboard doors. 

Toying with the TV remote, Justin forgets all about the show and keeps staring at Clay over the shoulder. He put a hell of a fight when Clay suggested the idea of attending Comic-Con together, and furthermore refused to buy a costume for it. Now, seeing his brother so excited over the damn thing, and feeling equally eager to attend himself, he’s starting to regret his initial opposition. 

“I’ll make a fool out of myself by not wearing any costumes tomorrow, aren’t I?” 

“I never said that. It’s not compulsory to dress up if you don’t want to. But it’d be so much cooler if you wore one—that, I promise.” 

“Fine, I’ll buy a mask or something,” Justin shrugs, leaning back on the bed. 

“Oh, please. No need for that cheap excuse of a costume.” 

Before Justin can figure out Clay’s meaning, something hits him painlessly square on the chest—something wrapped up in birthday wrapping paper. Clay, grinning wickedly, sits by the other end of the bed, the springs creaking loudly under his weight, and waves for him to open it. Sitting upstraight, Justin does exactly that. 

“Uh. . . Thank you?” he says after revealing a set of black trousers, a white shirt, a black vest, black boots, and a pistol waist holster. 

“For Christ’s sake, it’s a Han Solo costume,” Clay explains upon Justin drawing blank even after opening the pseudo-present. 

“Oh. I see.” 

“I think I got your measurements right,” says Clay, unfolding the pieces of clothing—it would have been awful to have gotten a size too small or one too big, after living together for so long. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

“Just thought I should cover all of our bases, you know, in case you changed your mind.” 

“Thank you, Clay,” Justin appreciates, carefully trying to fold the clothes back as they were before. 

“Yeah, well, like I said, I’ll do anything for you, man, including making sure you have as much fun as possible at Comic-Con tomorrow,” says Clay. 

Without delving into it too much, because there really is no reason to do so, Clay steals the remote from Justin’s hands and changes the channel, in the frail hope of finding something a little bit more interesting to watch tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your amazing support ! I hope you liked the story !! 
> 
> I might write more stories regarding the Jensen family (and particularly the Jensen brothers) along the line :) For now, I just wanted to finish this one and not have you all waiting endlessly for the updates. . . See you soon !!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. . . Yeah. This is a surprise for me too xD As you know, I wasn't planning on writing any more chapters for this work, and yet. . . Clay and Justin go to College !!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I know what you're going to say. Chapter 24 was supposed to be this work's last chapter. And that was the plan. 
> 
> However, when I sat down to write more about Clay and Justin and the Jensens, this is the first idea I came up with. It just seemed more logical to include this chapter here than in a separate work.

Justin stands in front of the open doors of the wardrobe with a deep sigh, tired at his indecisiveness. Sure, Matt and Lainie have told him that he can buy whatever he needs later on, but he wants to avoid all and any unnecessary shopping sprees that will only lead to senseless spending of money. He will carry four suitcases if needed if that means he can take all of his clothes and shoes. 

Also, he’s already sent out resumés to get a half-time job in LA. He plans to earn enough wages to cover at the very least his personal expenses and a minor part of tuition—won’t let his parents pay for it all. Even if it means he’ll have to span his studies for a period of six years and not four. He’s not as smart a person as his brother, he wasn’t planning on graduating in four years like Clay will do. 

There is this one piece of clothing he’s not taking with him, however, and he knows who and where it belongs to. Smirking, he grabs that blue sky and white hoodie from Liberty, folds it nearly, and carries it over to Clay’s bed, on top of discarded piles of clothing. His brother never dared to say the words aloud but he knows Clay wants to keep that hoodie. Jess also hinted that she’d like to have it, but Justin’s making a strategic decision here. Starting tomorrow, he’ll live closer to Jessica than Clay and probably see her more than his brother. 

“Careful there, Val,” he warns, returning to his suitcase. She’s been on the way the entire day, following him and Clay around as they attempted to pack their bags. Although it’d be more correct to say that they’ve made such a mess in the outer house that the poor thing does not know where to stand or where to sleep. 

Val doesn’t understand, either, why their room has been through this transformation, with piles of clothes and books everywhere. She’s been investigating, sniffling, and smelling around, still in two minds regarding if she likes the changes or not. Unable to comprehend that her two owners will be leaving the house in the morning, sighs Justin, petting her behind the ears, just like she likes it. 

Truth be told, he’s standing in the messier room he’s ever seen or been in, including his old bedroom at his mother’s place. Under different circumstances, Clay would yell and complain about it as soon as he gets home—but today, he’s to blame for at least half the mess. Books, clothes, shoes, toiletries… A miscellaneous of stuff lies everywhere, some of it discarded, some of it waiting to be tucked away in one of the suitcases, some of it on the constantly growing ‘maybe’ column. 

The bottom line is, they’re having trouble packing their stuff. Deciding what to leave behind or take with them is harder than Justin had ever expected it to. He didn’t account for the emotional toll. 

Trying not to delve into pessimistic thoughts just yet, he whistles a melody he got stuck last night, with one of Clay’s musical classics. Justin could not, for the life of him, remember the title of the musical, even though it was the family’s last movie night before their departure to University, but still, some songs stayed with him throughout the night. 

Two knocks interrupt his reveries and his attempt at finishing the suitcase. 

“Hey, Justin,” Lainie says softly, a pile of clothes on her hands, freshly washed and ironed. Matt peaks from behind her, as well, him carrying a few of hangers with Justin’s shirts—picked up from the dry cleaner’s. “Here you have, honey.” 

“Oh, thanks,” Justin appreciates. 

He takes the trousers and T-shirts and lays them neatly inside the suitcase, which is almost filled to the brim already. He then reaches for the shirts from Matt. 

“Don’t pack these just yet,” Matt recommends hastily. “Wait till tomorrow morning—they’ll get wrinkled enough during the trip. Try to remember to unpack them as soon as you’re settled and hang them again.” 

“OK, sure,” Justin nods, as his father puts the hangers inside the cupboard again. 

“And, if my track record from a century ago serves well, I don’t think you’ll ever get your hands on an iron down there, so remember this: if you turn the hot water in the shower, the steam will take care of some of the wrinkles,” Matt winks at him. “Just an old-school trick I learned along the way.” 

“Appreciate it, chuckles Justin.” 

Although he’d like to get back to work, his parents don’t seem eager to leave the room just yet. Taking a good look at Lainie and Matt, Justin realizes there’s another speech coming in—they’ve had a lot of sentimental scenes over the past couple of weeks. Ever since they came back from Comic-Con, it has been an emotional roller coaster here in the Jensen household. Only, this time, Clay isn’t here to weather it with him. 

“I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again,” Matt begins, “we haven’t had enough time, kiddo. It feels like yesterday when I found you hiding in Clay’s bedroom.” 

“I know. I feel the same.” Justin needs to avoid their eyes to come clean with his own feelings—although they mirror his parents’. He’s just trying not to break down and start crying, for it’ll set Matt and Lainie off, and then no one will be able to pull themselves together. 

“And now you’re flying off to college,” Lainie picks up the speech, entwining her hands with Matt. “You’ve overcome so much, passed your classes and exams. . . And you’re leaving the nest, too.” 

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Justin says, not for the first time either—he wants Lainie and Matt to grasp all they’ve done for him and to know he’s grateful for their support and struggles. 

“We were there for you, but you did it all, kiddo,” Matt replies. “Let’s give credit where it’s due.” 

“We are so proud of you,” says Lainie, surrendering at last and hugging Justin tightly. 

After hugging and shedding a few tears, they all chuckle. Val approaches the family circle, resting her head against Justin’s leg, without understanding the mood swings the family members are expressing within the span of a few seconds. 

“Do you need help?” Lainie offers, looking all around. 

“I think I’ll manage,” promises Justin. 

“Holler if you need us, kiddo,” Matt insists. 

“Will do. Thanks.” 

As his parents find their way out, Justin kneels to grab a pair of sneakers from the floor, just an excuse to turn his back on Matt and Lainie and wipe a few treacherous tears off his eyes. Before his parents get through the door and this new emotional scene is done with, however, they hear a car parking on the lane and an engine stop.

Justin stands to look through the windows and sees Clay crossing the garden to the outer house. The bags and heartfelt speeches forgotten now, a smirk on his lips, Justin waits for him leaning against the countertop. 

“Hey, Mom, Dad,” Clay greets them, all too casual, giving Justin a wave. As he puts the car keys down, he sees the big pastries box on the counter. “What is this?” 

“Farewell gift from Monét’s,” explains Justin. 

“Do they think they need to feed the entire California state population?” 

“Nice try, Jensen,” chuckles Justin, closing the box again and pushing it away from Clay’s reach. He’s not letting Clay get away just like that. 

Astonished, his brother looks up, feigning innocence. He looks at Justin, Matt, and Lainie alternatively, who all take positions around him and the countertop—waiting for some answers or the most feeble explanations. 

“Tell us, how was it?” Lainie asks, soft tone. 

At that, Clay sighs deeply, resting his hands on the counter. He’s a smart boy, it doesn’t take him too much time to understand he’ll be off the hook faster if he surrenders and gives his family members some stuff to fuel the gossip. 

“It was fine,” he says. “Went to the movies. Talked about comics and stuff. Drove her back home and agreed to meet in Providence in a couple of days—she promises to have a full report for me when I get there.” 

“Did you at least invite her for dinner?” Matt demands. 

“Yes, I did, and she refused,” Clay says, giving Justin a sideways look. He was the one to give him some pointers regarding today’s date, after all, to prevent him from messing everything up. “We’re not at the ‘meet the in-laws’ stage yet, Dad. Plus, she wanted to spend dinner with her folks.” 

“That’s understandable,” Lainie approves, soft voice. She never would have allowed her boys to spend tonight anywhere but home, no matter the reason—to her, it’s unfathomable that any parent shouldn’t want to have one last meal with their kids on the eve of their departure. 

“Indeed,” agrees her husband. 

Once more, something swells amongst the family members and Justin takes a deep, silent breath, not ready for another breakdown so soon. Without saying a word, they all realize their bubble is on the edge of bursting—and when it does, they all know no one will be able to put the cap back on. So, in order to avoid another scene, and in order to spare poor Justin, Clay steals the pastries box from Justin’s supervision. 

“Let’s try some of these pastries, then, shall we?” he asks, really making an effort. “They look amazing.” 

“Clay, honey, it’s almost time for dinner,” Lainie reminds him—they’re still supposed to abide by their parents’ rules for at least one more night. With a roll of eyes, Clay puts down the muffin he’d chosen, wiping his hands on a napkin. 

“And on that note, we’ll let you get some work done before dinner,” says Matt, patting his wife’s arm and nodding for the door. 

“Since you’re busy, we’ll take Val on her walk,” Lainie adds, kneeling on the floor. The dog immediately answers her call and starts licking her hands while Matt picks up her leash and some doggy bags. “Unless you need any help organizing your stuff?” 

“None,” promises Clay, already waving goodbye. 

“See you later. And thanks,” appreciates Justin. 

Their parents finally leave the outer house, Val on their tow. The minute the door is shut, Clay, who hadn’t moved from his seat on the counter, picks up that forsaken muffin and takes the biggest of bites, hoping his parents won’t return unannounced for any reason. Tomorrow morning, all sorts of schedules and impositions from the Jensen parents go out the window. 

“These are so fucking good,” he says, his mouth half-full. “Seems too expensive for a simple goodbye present.” 

“Does it come as a surprise that they’re all sorry to lose me? I’m the best caterer they’ve ever had there,” Justin says, completely unabashed, shrugging as he picks up one more sweater and folds it the way Matt told him to. 

“Okay, tell your ego to calm down, please,” Clay begs him with a roll of eyes. “You’re not a genie or a miracle worker. They’ll survive without you.” 

“I don’t know, they seemed pretty desperate. . .” 

“Desperate to have an excuse to finally sack you, I’m sure,” retorts Clay, making Justin chuckle softly. 

Closing the pastries box after pondering for a few seconds if he could get away with eating two muffins before dinner, Clay comes down from his stool. Sighing deeply, tired of packing already, he heads for his suitcase. 

He can feel, however, Justin’s eyes on him and he lets out a groan. 

“Don’t you fucking start, too,” he scowls, warning in his tone. 

Since Clay looks ready to throw at him the book he’s holding, Justin makes a sensible retreat, standing beyond hitting range, even though he knows Clay would probably miss the target. There is only one question that he needs answered. 

“Just tell me one thing,” he begs. “Was it a bad or a good experience?” 

Clay closes his eyes, mournful that they’re still talking about his date with Heidi, but he knows that the smartest way out is through. An honest answer will put him out of the gutter faster and easier. 

“Good,” he grants. Defeated, he sits on the bed, entwining his hands, and closes his eyes, letting out the rest of his confession. “Of course, it was.” 

Nervous as he was during the whole afternoon, the date with Heidi was wonderful. How could it have been any different? He’s in a much better and more stable mental place now to fully enjoy what life’s got to offer. Not to mention, Heidi’s got no connection whatsoever to Hannah, she doesn’t bring back any nightmares or bad memories. He didn’t meet her at his lowest and most taxing point in his life. 

She’s a most welcome breath of fresh air for him. She’s funny, pretty damn smart, candid, and innocent. She knows about his mental breakdown and probably about his relationship with Hannah, but she does not judge him for it, nor question his motives, either. Whether she understands Clay doesn’t want to talk about it those events, or she doesn’t care at all about those, he’s totally cool with that. Moving on is exactly what he needs to do, right now. 

With a deep sigh, Justin playfully nudges Clay on the arm, pulling him back to the here and now. He understands fully what his brother is going through. 

“So can we agree that dating is something to enjoy, not dread?” he persists. He needs Clay to learn this one last lesson and get his point now, face to face, for tomorrow they’ll be thousands of miles apart. Although, distance or no distance, Justin will just keep pestering Clay through the multiple means of communication at their disposal, of course. 

“Maybe,” scoffs Clay, tired of the subject. 

“Then, will you do me a favor and be open to ask her out again soon?” begs Justin. 

“Whatever,” Clay scoffs. 

Putting, now, a final end to the conversation, he jumps off the bed and starts collecting a few scattered books. He cannot get them all, though: Justin hasn’t bothered to move from his bed yet. 

“Less talking, more working.” 

“Okay, okay,” accepts Justin, jumping to his feet and heading over to his suitcase. 

This is usually—or, more accurately, was up until now—their dynamic when it came to tackling their homework: Justin arguing and fooling around, whereas Clay got his head straight and made him focus on the work. It seems there’s no difference when it comes to packing for College. 

Clay’s already packed up Justin’s hoodie, accepting the token of appreciation with a knot in his throat, but refusing to make an essay about it. Justin didn’t make a big deal either, and they’d rather avoid a scene every ten minutes. 

“You could have traveled to Providence with Heidi tomorrow,” Justin says over the shoulder, bringing Clay back to the present. “You know that, right? I needn’t you three to chaperone me.” 

“What if I simply wanted to spend every last possible second with you?” Clay retorts, giving him a playful wink. The excuse seems to work, for Justin smiles and nods at him in gratitude. 

The thing is that, in Justin’s case, it’s not only a matter of simply dropping him off at Occidental College, finding his dorms, give him a hand unpacking, and helping him get his bearings around campus. Justin’s supposed to contact a DA center in LA, as well, that Dr. Miller recommended them. Given the circumstances, Clay decided it was better to join Justin. He’ll have four years to spend with Heidi, and he’s on borrowed time regarding his brother. 

“So, how was the movie?” Justin asks. 

“Heidi seemed to like it.” 

“You didn’t?” 

“Man, you know I don’t like zombie movies. They make no sense to me at all,” sighs Clay, finally getting it out of his chest—he couldn’t really bring up this subject back at the cinemas. “Also, zombie-movie scale, I’d rate it as. . .” 

“I’ll stop you right there,” begs Justin, throwing Clay a pillow before he starts another one of his rambles. “I do not need your farewell present to be a nerd rant about zombies and nerd movie scales. Also, I don’t want to talk about zombies and the reasons why you can’t enjoy a good horror movie just like everyone else.”

“Are you sure? I can make a very compelling argument.” 

“Positive. The first ten times were bad enough, thank you very much.”   
“Your loss,” Clay chuckles, throwing the pillow back on Justin’s bed. He chuckles in return and goes into the bathroom, letting Clay return to his suitcase. 

“Hold on for a minute,” demands Justin suddenly, his raised voice echoing in the bathroom. Something tells Clay it’s important and he turns around just as Justin’s head pops up, a frown between his eyes. “You went to see 'Blue Devil' at the Crestmont?” 

“Where else?” replies Clay, mocking tone as if reminding Justin that two plus two equals four. 

“Jess was there, too, and didn’t mention seeing you.” 

He takes his phone out, checking his messages, but Jessica never said anything about Clay being there, too. She would have texted him a minute-by-minute retelling of the whole story—regarding Clay and Heidi, of course. She would barely remember a thing about the latest chick flick at Crestmont. 

“Oh. Right. Well, we. . . We might not have entered through the front doors,” Clay says, blushing. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

In order to stop Clay from using his packing to avoid the subject, Justin zips Clay’s suitcase and sits on top of it, forcing him to shove him off—or talk. Since Clay clearly doesn’t have the strength to match Justin and take on someone like him, his brother surrenders easily. 

“I mean that I worked my ass off at that cinema for two whole years,” he explains, gesturing at Justin to get off his suitcase. “I know my way around at the Crestmont.” 

“You. . . _Sneaked_ in?” Justin demands, baffled. 

“Will you shut up!” Clay begs him, truly desperate and nervous. He looks over the shoulder to check the main house, but his parents haven’t materialized right then and there at the mention of him doing something slightly illegal. “Or do you want to rat me out to the entire neighborhood?” 

“Relax, man,” chuckles Justin. He’s one hundred percent certain no one can hear them, not even their parents back at the main house. “What I care about is—you know a secret entrance to the cinemas and you tell me that big-ass secret the night before we fly off to University? You bastard! What happened to ‘I’d do anything for you’ and all that crap?” 

“Hey, you earn acceptable wages now, you can afford to go to the cinemas. What’s the big deal?” Clay shrugs. 

“The big deal is, I never thought my brother was so cunning!” Justin explodes, applauding and celebrating as if he’d just won a football match. “Three years ago, I never would have guessed that Clay-fucking-Jensen would be able to do half the stuff you pulled.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m always exceeding expectations and breaking records,” Clay shrugs, waving at Justin to move off his suitcase—but he’s not done, yet. 

“How many times have you done it?” 

“This was the first and possibly the last time.”

“You dog. . .” 

“I assume Jessica could sneak you in whenever you wanted to,” Clay points out. “I am not going to show you.” 

“Oh, yes, you are. The next time we’re home, that’s the first thing on our to-do list,” Justin scowls. 

“So, you don’t care about our parents, our friends, or anything?” 

“Hells, no. This is a top priority from now on.” 

“Well, at least that’s an excuse to drag you back home. Whatever works, I guess,” Clay shrugs, fully knowing he’s touching a nerve, here. 

“Don’t say that,” Justin spits, just like Clay knew he would—annoyed that his brother should even think like that. “I don’t need any excuses to see our folks. I’ll come back for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, our birthdays, and every other weekend I can. I hope to see you here on every occasion, too. I don’t give a rat’s ass if Heidi invites you over to Disneyland. Family is more important.” 

“Of course, I’ll be here,” nods Clay, happy to be in agreement on that subject. “I’ll be here so much that they’ll beg me to go back to University. But we’re never getting on that damned flight if we don’t finish packing. Get back to work, Justin, right now.” 

“Yes, sir,” Justin chuckles. 

Taking a small detour to put on some music while they work, Justin does his best to focus and finish his suitcase. 

For the next thirty minutes or so, they work, slowly and reluctantly, going to and fro grabbing stuff from cabinets and drawers and sorting out their belongings. They’re both conflicted about leaving home. It is but the obvious next step in their academic careers, and yet, separation brings the worse out of each other. 

It’s an especially troubling and disorienting process for Justin. Every so often he needs to stop for a second and collect his thoughts, contemplating the bright future ahead of him, considering his past and background. 

Or, even more simply, all the belongings he wants to take with him—the fact that he has so many possessions. Each of those items is linked to a precious memory he vows never to forget, most of them involving his now family members and Jessica. He never thought he’d go to the University—part of him never thought he’d be alive still at the ripe old age of 18. And now, thanks to the Jensens. . . He’s got it all. 

That’s what he tells Matt, Lainie, and Clay a bit later on, during dinner. The meal turns into a Thanksgiving-themed party where Justin thanks them for all they did for him ever since they took him in, willingly or not. The fact that they’ve given them a future, and a life worth living. . . There are no words and no grand gestures to repay them back for it all. 

Clay confesses that there have been some dark moments in the past couple of years where he thought he wouldn’t make it out alive, and thanks, too, the support from his parents and Justin through it all. 

“I never wanted a brother. I’m sorry, Justy, but it’s true,” he chuckles. “But now that you’re in my life, I realize that you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“Same, man,” agrees Justin, patting Clay’s arm. 

“My only regret is that we didn’t have enough time.” 

“We’re only going to College, man. It’s not the end of the world,” Justin points out, making everyone at the dinner table chuckle. 

“And Mom, Dad,” Clay resumes his speech, “I know you’re scared. We’ve given many frights and you’re totally right to be frightened. But at least you know that Justin and I have each other’s backs and will help each other out if necessary. Remember that whenever we inevitably get into trouble.” 

Matt and Lainie also seize a chance to say a few words. They reiterate the pride they feel towards both Clay and Justin’s achievements, for standing tall where they are in spite of the incredibly heavy burden they’re both carrying. They hope that they’ve been supportive and helping enough throughout the struggles they’ve been through and wish that they meet happier and more peaceful stages of life. 

Finally, they toast to Justin and Clay’s future, with high hopes regarding their careers. 

“Thank God that was the last of it,” Clay sighs after dinner, back at the outer house, dropping dead on his bed. 

They’ve had farewell parties of all sorts for almost two weeks on a row, saying goodbye to the gang and to all their friends at Liberty. Last night, Amy and her kids visited. Clay really could not deal with any more dinners or speeches or tears. At least, they’re finally leaving, putting a stop to the emotional roller coaster. 

Val jumps onto his chest, making Clay groan at her weight, but he’s too tired to force her down. He’ll miss her, too. 

Resting on his elbows, he takes a good look around. They finished the suitcases and tidied up the place before dinner, so the place does actually look like any ordinary bedroom, again. On the surface, not much has changed. There are some books missing on the shelves, plus the toiletries are gone from the bathroom, but the posters are still up, as well as so many of their comics and books and whatnot. No laptops or dirty dishes on the counter, either. 

That’s all a façade, however. The cupboards and drawers are practically empty. This is really happening. They’re leaving in the morning. High school is finally over and it’s time for them to spread their wings. 

Justin seems to have a hard time coming to terms with the situation, too. As soon as he entered the outer house, he’s found a seat on the countertop and hasn’t budged from there. Head dropped, shoulders dropped, he’s staring blankly at the wall. 

“You alright, man?” Clay asks, sitting on the bed.   
That snaps his brother out of his blur. Justin looks at him, then back at the wall, and takes a very deep breath of air. 

“There is. . . Something I’d like to do.” 

“Very well, then. I’m driving,” Clay says straightaway. He pushes Val off his bed, jumps to his feet, and goes straight to fetch the car keys. 

Baffled, Justin can only jump to stand in front of Clay to stop him, albeit he needs a few more seconds to collect his thoughts. 

“What?” presses Clay. 

“This is it? I tell you I want to do something and that’s all you need to hear to get into the car? Don’t you even want to know where we’re going or what is it I’m planning? I could need a fix, for all you know.” 

Raising an eyebrow at Justin, Clay crosses his arms. “Fine. Yes or no: are you planning on scoring drugs?” 

“I am most certainly not.” 

“That’s what I thought,” nods Clay, attempting to get the keys again. 

“Clay, man. . .”

“Listen, Justin. A, I know you’re not planning on doing anything illegal, so I don’t need to know the specifics. B, it sounds kind of serious, so I’m coming either way. And, C, if you waited to do it until our last night here, that tells me you’ve been avoiding it, maybe because you’re afraid, maybe because you think it’s a mistake,” Clay reasons. “Be as it may, you need me. So, whatever it is, I’m in. Let’s do this, come on.” 

After a five-second deliberation, Justin grins at him, thanking Clay for the unbreakable faith only a true brother could have in him. He nods and steps to the side, letting Clay grab the car keys, while he takes an envelope from his drawer. 

Val barks at them, as if beckoning the two brothers to stay in, but they otherwise leave the house and jump into the car unnoticed. By the time Clay turns on the engine, if their parents have seen or heard them, it’s too late. He drives off at full speed and turns at the first intersection to be on the safe side. 

From then on, he follows Justin’s directions across town. Of course, it’d be easier if Justin simply told him the final address, but he doesn’t insist upon seeing that Justin doesn’t want to divulge that information just yet—truth be told, Justin wants to delay revealing where they’re going for as long as possible. He knows that Clay will probably turn back home the minute he realizes where Justin wanted to go. 

About fifteen minutes later, he finally instructs Clay to find a spot to park. He obliges with careful movements, fulfilling all the safety precautions and more, and turns the key in the ignition before taking a good look around. When he, at last, realizes where they are, he frowns and looks at Justin with bafflement. 

“Your Mom’s place?” Clay demands. 

Justin sighs deeply and shrugs, unable to answer. At the very least, Clay hasn’t driven off the street, so that’s a win on Justin’s book. He pats his knee with the envelope, his hands shaking a little bit. 

“Is. . . Is that for her?” 

“Yes,” nods Justin, his voice breaking a little bit. “Don’t worry, it’s not cash.” 

“You don’t need to explain anything—” 

“It’s only a letter,” Justin keeps going, as if Clay hadn’t said anything. Maybe he really needs to get it off his chest. “And I don’t include any sort of personal information about you or our folks—not even an address where she can try to locate me at. You can read it if you want to.” 

“That’s personal between you and her,” Clay says, refusing to take the letter, even though the envelope isn’t sealed. 

“Dude,” scoffs Justin, throwing his head back. “We have literally breathed each other’s farts. You’ve walked in on me jerking off more times than you know. And now you draw the line?” 

By Justin’s phrasing, he does want Clay to read the letter, as it’ll make him feel better. He takes the envelope and pulls a single page out. Seeing Justin nervously biting his lower lip, Clay turns on the interior car lights to read the letter. 

It’s actually a five-sentence missive that Justin addressed to his mother, telling her that he’s dealing with his drug addiction, that he managed to pass High School, and he’s leaving town to attend College. As promised, no returned address or any personal information that her mother—or any of her junkie boyfriends, for that matter—might trace back to Justin or their parents. 

“I know it’s stupid,” Justin tries to justify when Clay’s finished his reading. 

“No, it isn’t. If it’s important to you, it’s not stupid,” he replies, putting the paper back into the envelope and turning off the lights, lest any neighbor starts getting suspicious. 

“Well, I mean, I’m sending her this letter when I’ve had absolutely no contact from her whatsoever. She hasn’t sought me out once,” says Justin, looking out to the, for now, quiet and dark house. “I just. . . I just wanted her to know that I’m alright. She was so scared that I’d end up like her—wasted, in a possibly abusive relationship, an addict, without any hope or future.” 

“And look where you are now,” says Clay, patting Justin on the shoulder. 

He smiles and nods in response, but avoids Clay’s gaze for the longest time and stares only at the envelope on his lap. He is aware that Clay was the key to everything, his high and his turning point. Without him, Justin would definitely still live there with his mother, an incurable drug addict, maybe selling for Seth. His undiagnosed HIV would have led him to an untimely death if the addiction didn’t take him sooner. 

“Would you like me to come with you?” 

“No,” Justin says, shaking his head. He finally looks up at Clay and smiles warmly at him, squeezing his hand. “Thank you for offering, and I love you the more for driving me here, but I can do this last part.” 

“Okay, then,” accepts Clay, leaning back on his seat. 

Justin unbuckles his seat belt and leaves the car, uncertain steps. He walks up to the house, covered by the darkness of the malfunctioning street lamps, and lays the envelope on top of the floor mat. Straightening, he looks up and down the house for a few lingering seconds. 

Before his mother or any of her revolving boyfriends see him there, triggering an ultimate fight neither he nor Clay should be involved with this late in the game, Justin runs back to the car, appreciating the anonymity the darkness provides them. 

“How do you know she’ll find the letter first and not Seth or one of her boyfriends?” 

“I don’t,” Justin confesses. It’s a risk he has to pay, though—he refuses to ring on the bell and risk meeting Seth or any of his mother’s boyfriends. He knows there’s a chance she’ll never find the letter. “We can go, man.” 

Clay, however, shows no hurry to leave the neighborhood just yet. He can tell Justin needs a minute more. This is also a goodbye for him of sorts, one last thing he had to do to leave this city and all of its memories behind. 

“How many times have you been here lately?” 

“This is the first time I come by or even drive through this street,” Justin says hastily. “I promise I’ve never done this before and I’m never doing it again.” 

“Calm down, Justin,” says Clay, using a soft, low voice to counteract Justin’s tone. “I’m not going to forbid you from coming here or writing anytime you want to. I just want you to tell me next time. I’m coming with.” 

“I’m not planning on. . .” 

“Just keep it in mind,” Clay begs him. “I want to be there for you.” 

“Okay, I promise,” Justin says without taking a second to ponder. “Thank you, Clay. We can go home, now.” 

This time around, Clay obliges. He drives slowly, giving Justin time in case he reconsiders and wants to go back for some reason. Soon enough the house in question disappears from the rearview mirror, leaving one more burden behind their backs. 

But then he takes a left turn that disconcerts Justin. 

“What are you doing? The fastest way home is. . .” 

“I’m not ready to go home yet,” confesses Clay in a whisper. “I feel like taking a drive. Do you mind?” 

“No, of course not,” Justin accepts easily. “Take all the time you need, man.” 

Relaxing again, he turns on the radio. He settles back on his seat, a grin on his lips to discover that Clay’s feelings mirror his own. Going back home is so definite. It’ll be the last time they drive back together, for tomorrow, everything will change. Also, he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to get any sleep at all. 

In the meantime, he observes the quiet city passing before his eyes. He sees in a corner Mrs. Baker’s old drug store, now sold and pending remodeling, but Clay changes course before they drive in front of the old store. 

Justin doesn’t mention it, as he’s otherwise reminiscing on everything he’s been through here. The good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful. Fears, despair, joy, hopes. How many people his age have lived half as many jarring experiences as he has? How many of them have survived? And how many couldn’t—because they didn’t have such a strong and supportive safety net as he does now? 

“You know, for a while back, my world was split into two acts: before Hannah and after Hannah,” confesses Clay, talking in whispers barely above the music. “I was so angry and confused. . . It consumed me. I just hope that today I begin a new chapter—after Liberty High.” 

“Perhaps it’s more of a state of mind,” Justin argues. “You weren’t ready to move on just yet. Now, you’re beginning to see the future with different eyes.” 

Clay ponders for some seconds. “I’m not sure I’m leaving it all behind. I mean, Bryce still haunts me from time to time. And Monty. And Hannah, of course. And Jeff. . . Some days, I feel like I’m only spiraling without control. That’s not really turning a page, is it?” 

“I’m sure Dr. Eldman has a more professional assessment, but it seems to me that we all have good days and bad days,” Justin argues. “Some days the baggage feels weightless, others it’s like carrying ten-pound shackles on every extremity. I still think about Bryce from time to time, too. It’s inevitable, I think. Him, and Hannah, and Jessica. . . And everything that happened. They’re part of our lives, now.” 

“Yeah,” agrees Clay, his eyes fixed on the road. “Actually, I don’t think I want to ever forget all the shit that’s happened.”

Knowing Clay as he does, Justin can read between the lines of his speech. He doesn’t want to forget someone, more like it. Because forgetting would mean letting her go at long last, and one never forgets his first true love. Clay’s not ready for it. . . Just yet. 

He swallows down those words, of course. Arguing with his brother is the last thing he wants to do right now. They’re supposed to be saying goodbye and to come to terms with leaving their hometown, that’s it. Fighting, even though it’s like second nature for them, is out of the question. 

Instead, he just keeps looking through the window, humming the pop song playing under his breath. The streets, whose names he knows by heart, are getting emptier by the minute. That’s Eisenhower park down there, he notices—the beginning of his story with Hannah. There isn’t a single spot in the entire town that’s not linked to some bad shit in their past, he fears. 

When they get back home, a couple of hours later, the house is completely quiet, albeit they question if their parents are truly asleep or not—they aren’t tried at all, either. 

Justin and Clay delay going to sleep by first eating the pastries from Monét’s with a glass of milk, giving Val a night-time snack, as well. They change into their pajamas lazily and reluctantly, knowing there’s little chance of getting any sleep. And, sure enough, twenty minutes later, they’re still awake, lying on their beds and staring at the ceiling, the bedside lamp turned on. 

“I was thinking about something Mrs. Baker told me,” Clay says, resuming their earlier conversation as if it weren’t 1 am already. “When she was questioned by the police regarding Bryce’s murder.” 

“What was it?” 

“She told me. . . She told me not to lose sight of what’s really important. Survival.” 

Justin turns to his side, facing Clay, a bit worried by the turn of the conversation and Clay’s take on Mrs. Baker’s advice. “Your point being?” 

“I’m fucking tired of merely surviving. I want to live, goddammit.” 

“Atta boy,” Justin approves, relieved beyond belief. Chuckling, he lies back on the bed, hands entwined under his head. “It’s good advice. Maybe it is time to start living our lives for a change.” 

“Amen.” 

“Maybe that advice can help you regarding Heidi and you actually ask her out when you meet her again.” 

“Just shut up, Justin,” scowls Clay, throwing a pillow at him across the room. Annoyed that his brother could turn his words against him and make an inappropriate and superfluous dating advice now of all times. Justin bursts out laughing again and throws him back his pillow, with unnecessary strength. 

“Come on, Jensen. Try to sleep,” he suggests, turning off the night light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the extra chapter and I think this was for reals the last chapter. Definitely. 
> 
> (Maybe).

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it !! Please let me know what you think :D


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